Chuck vs The Balls of Steel
by WhiskyRomeo
Summary: It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. But Chuck will have to do.
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck Vs The Balls Of Steel**

**Summary:** It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. His name? It's not Chuck.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Chuck', the TV Series or the characters. I don't own DC Comics or any of their characters, either.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** I have decided that the language, slang and jargon used in the 30's/40's USA is pretty much same as it is in the early 21st Century. I think I would lose the 'Chuck' factor if I called him a 'wet sock' rather than a Nerd.

**Chapter 1: Chuck vs An Intersect.**

_February 1940_

Burbank, Los Angeles

"Aw, dude," the short, Hispanic young man with the close-cropped beard groaned with a sense of awe. "This guy is so cool. Look at the way he handled those heavy bad guys."

"And look at his clothes," the taller, clean-shaven man with the short dark brown, slightly curly hair nodded with enthusiasm. "The man looks so cool, even when he isn't beating on the villains."

The two men, both appearing to be in their early twenties, sat huddled next to one another on the edge of a bed in a small bedroom, looking at something that the smaller man was holding on his lap.

"I'll tell you this for nothing, Chuck," the bearded man agreed. "He is one awesome hero."

"That he is, Morgan," Charles Irving Bartowski, affectionately known as Chuck smiled. "That he is."

"How cool would it be if we could be like him, huh?" Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend inquired.

"On a cool factor of one to ten?" Chuck raised his eyebrows with an excited grin. "One being totally not cool..."

"Like us," Morgan interrupted with a resigned nod of his head.

"And ten being..."

"Coolest of the cool," Morgan finished with an stabbing of his finger for emphasis. "The coolest of the coolest... of the coolest. I mean, the man has gadgets, brains, gadgets, brawn... did I mentions his gadgets? "

"Then I think we're talking a fifteen here, Morgan."

"That's super cool!" Morgan grinned. "And when the guy can't beat the perps with his fists, he uses the old brain power. Kind of like us, huh, Chuck?"

"Kind of like us, little buddy," Chuck gave Morgan a huge smile. "Except that we never studied boxing and Jiu-Jitsu and other neat stuff, like he did."

"Because neither one of us has much in the way of muscles," Morgan's voice tailed off as he turned his head away.

"Yeah," Chuck gave a long, drawn out sigh of regret.

"But, hey! Chuck!" Morgan bounced back. "You know you have something else in common with the man, don't you? You both lost both of your parents at an early age!"

"I don't think mine were murdered, like his, Morgan," Chuck shook his head. "And I still had Ellie to bring me up."

"Right, right," Morgan nodded. "You know, ever since he appeared in issue number... number..."

"Number twenty-seven, buddy," Chuck looked up at Morgan. "May, 1939."

"Man," Morgan grinned. "I love it how you can remember all that stuff and just... have it at your fingertips. But you know what? I bet those Nancy dudes over in Europe right now would never mess with our man, right?"

"The word is Nazi, Morgan," Chuck shrugged. "Nazi. But, you're right. Herr Hitler and his henchmen wouldn't stand a chance against him."

"Do you reckon they're going to come after us?" Morgan turned and looked at Chuck with a worried frown. "Because I heard that those... Nazi guys are into that sort of thing. You know, world domination."

"Not gonna happen, Buddy," Chuck shook his head. "Not only do they have to cross the Atlantic Ocean, but there are like, millions and millions of Americans and there aren't nearly as many Nazi's. Plus, we have our secret weapon."

"Which secret weapon would that be?" Morgan narrowed his eyes."

"Jeff and Lester," Chuck grinned.

"But if we had more like Bruce," Morgan returned to looking at the picture that he was holding.

"Right," the taller man nodded.

The door behind them opened, causing the two young men to jump, frantically trying to hide what they were looking at.

"Chuck?" a tall, attractive brunette demanded. "What are you doing?"

"That would be hiding," Chuck had a look of guilt on his face.

"Hi, Ellie," Morgan stared with open admiration and affection at the woman.

Chuck's older sister, Eleanor Faye Bartowski, ignored the bearded man, her eyes fixed on her baby brother.

"Chuck, it's a party," she stated. "I have even invited a date for you. A real woman, Chuck. She's a nurse from the hospital where Devon and I work. And where do I find you? In your room, with Morgan, reading comic books."

"Not just any 'comic book'," Morgan protested, holding the front of the comic up so that Ellie could see the cover art. The background was yellow, with a red banner backing the white text that stated 'Detective Comics'. A picture of a man in a gray suit and a huge voluminous black cape, scalloped to resemble bat wings was swooping down on a car with two villains looking up in shock. "Detective Comics number thirty-three. It's the one that explains the origins of the Batman. You see, he..."

Morgan caught the frosty look that Ellie was shooting his way.

"You're not interested," he nodded, looking away. "Shutting up, now."

"You stay here, Morgan," she spoke in tense voice as she took Chuck's arm. "Chuck, you come with me."

"Wish me luck, Buddy," Chuck cast his friend a backwards glance as Ellie dragged Chuck out of the room.

"Luck," Morgan gave his friend a half-hearted wave.

-oOo-

"Now just remember," Ellie, her arm looped through Chuck's, whispered in his ear. Her voice was warm and soothing. "You're a great guy. You're smart, you're funny and you can be quite charming. She's single and she already thinks you're cute."

"Oh, gee," Chuck gave his sister a wry grin. "Cute, huh? What am I? Eight?"

"I'm your sister, sue me," Ellie smirked. "So get out there and be your charming self."

"Easy for you to say," Chuck groaned as he stumbled into the courtyard of the block of apartments he and Ellie lived in.

"Hi," a perky redhead appeared in from of him, clutching the thin tie that he still wore around his neck. Although Chuck was still dressed for work, most of the other partygoers had changed into less formal clothing. "Are you in costume?"

"Uh yeah," Chuck nodded, his face burning with embarrassment. "Kinda. Uh, I work at Buy More Gas and Go."

"That is so cute," the wide-eyed, Bambi faced redhead giggled. "So, do you like, pump gas there or something?"

"Uh, sometimes," Chuck nodded, his voice raising an octave higher than he would have liked. "But I mainly fix car electrics. You know, lights, radios..."

"But Ellie said that you went to Stanford."

"I did," Chuck nodded with a little embarrassment. "Yes, I did."

"Oh my god!" the perky woman enthused. "I knew this great guy from Stanford. He ran track, played football and studied electrical engineering."

"Bryce Larkin," Chuck gave a sigh of disappointment. "My roommate."

"I wonder what he's doing now?" the girl wondered, her eyes going distant while a faint smile crossed her lips.

"I think he sells insurance in Seattle."

-oOo-

_February 1940_

An Undisclosed Location

The tall, athletic and ruggedly handsome dark-haired young man moved quickly and silently through the narrow vents, a sheen of perspiration caused his face to almost glow in the poor light. Periodically, he would stop moving and listen before starting his journey again. Bryce Larkin was not an Insurance Salesman and neither was he in Seattle. His current location was classified while his current employer was like the proverbial secret wrapped in an enigma.

After what seemed like hours of twisting, turning, counting intersections and mentally measuring distances, Bryce came to a narrow vent. From a pocket on his sleeve, he produced a small screwdriver. Squeezing his hand through the slits in the vent and bending his wrist back on itself, he managed to slot the screwdriver into the head of the screw. Working blind like that, it only took him a dozen attempts. After some initial resistance, he finally managed to remove the first screw. He carefully pulled his hand back and removed the offending article from the magnetic head.

"One down," he smirked, "three to go."

With one hand holding on to the vent, Bryce managed to undo the fourth and final screw. Holding the vent fins firmly with both hands, he pushed down, lowered the vent from the gap. Twisting and then angling, he managed to pull the vent back up into the tunnel. He dropped into the room below. Landing in a low crouch and then rolling to nearby cover, he quickly scanned the darkness for any guards hiding in the shadows. Seeing none, he moved low and quick to a row of filing cabinets.

Swiftly and surely, he picked the lock with a set of tool hidden in his belt. He opened each drawer and ran a small, narrow beamed flashlight across the tabs that protruded from the file slots. Finally, he came across the file he was looking for and pulled it from the drawer. After confirming that the contents were what he was after, he slid the papers into a hidden pocket inside of his jacket. From the other side, pulled a small, solid tube, attached to which was a small dial and an assortment of wires. He twisted the dial and using a piece of putty, stuck the tube to the side of the filing cabinet.

"It's time to say goodbye," he grinned before sprinting, hell for leather, toward the large wooden door at the end of the room.

His timing perfect, Bryce leapt into the air just as the wave of energy hit him and he 'rode' it, like a surfer, his feet aiming at the door. The wooden structure could not resist the power of the blast and exploded off the hinges as Bryce made contact. Rolling away, he quickly backed up against the wall, sheltering from the heat from the explosion. He then bolted down the corridor, taking out two guards who had just appeared around the corner, rushing to see what was happening. Still moving, Bryce slid down on the polished floor, sliding like a baseball player into another guard who was even now levelling his gun at the intruder. Knocked over like a bowling pin, the guard's shot went wildly into the ceiling. Bryce was on his feet and running before the now unconscious man hit the floor.

As he burst through the main door and into a courtyard, two more guards appeared from a side door. As they paused to raise their weapons, Bryce had already tumbled into their legs, knocking them both over. Two swift waves of his hand across the backs of their necks rendered them unconscious. As he climbed back to his feet, two shots rang out in the darkness, sparks jumping from the cement ground close by. Not waiting to locate them, Bruce took off.

"He's heading for the roof!" someone called out as he started to leap up a staircase, taking three steps at a time.

At the top of the stairs, a guard appeared, pulling a pistol out to level at the intruder. Bryce dove headfirst between the man's legs, sliding behind him and rolling to his back. Bring his foot up hard and fast, the guard collapsed to the floor in agony, his hands clutching at his groin.

Bullets ricocheted from around him as he ran along the top of a low wall. At the end of this wall, he jumped into the darkness, landing on a rooftop below him and rolling like an acrobat to leap back to his feet. Sprinting across the rooftop, he leapt at a drain pipe and used this to slide lower still. Back on the ground again, Bryce ran hell for leather for a small truck that had parked at the end of the parking lot. As he neared, the back opened up and Bryce Larkin leapt inside, half a dozen pairs of hands helping to pull him up. The truck, however, did not pull away. Bryce looked up at the others inside the truck with a questioning look.

"Well?" he asked.

"Not bad, Larkin," a tall, thin man in a dark 'G-man' suit nodded. "Not bad at all. Where did you learn skills like that?"

"Stanford, mostly," Bryce Larkin shrugged. "Track and field, Gymnastics... and spending the last year and a half working for the British SIS in Spain while Franco, with the help of his Nazi buddies overran the country."

"Your file says that after the civil war ended in April of last year," another suited man spoke from a seat at the back of the truck, "you went to England where you performed a number of missions for them, checking on Nazi infiltration in a number of European countries. Then, in December of last year, your left their employ and returned to the United States. Why was that?"

"You know why, Mr. Kay," Bryce turned to look at the other man. "I know that the current administration dictates that we pursue an isolationist policy, but after what I saw at Guernica, and what I witnessed first-hand in Poland, when I saw what Nazi Germany is capable of... The Spanish Civil war was just an appetizer for them, a rehearsal. Poland was just opening night. They were planning something big back then and I don't think it's going to stop at Eastern Europe. We have to prepare ourselves because these guys mean business. We need to set up our own single espionage and counter espionage department. Not lots of little ones, run by various departments and competing for resources like we have now. And competing with each other. We need one department that will share all the data with everyone. Mr. Kay, we need some kind of centralised intelligence agency."

"Which was why we engineered this simple test, Mr. Larkin," Mr. Kay shrugged. "We wanted to see if a trained... 'agent' could indeed, breach top security and get away with information we would rather not have someone get away with. The, uh, bomb was a nice touch."

"Prove it, you said," Larkin nodded. "And I proved it. The bomb was both a diversion and a means of hiding what I actually took."

"As you are aware, due to Nazi Germany invading Poland, both Britain and France have declared war on Hitler. Europe is now at war and that means it will be difficult to obtain certain materials that we will need for our future defence. If you are agreeable, Mr. Larkin, we have a little job for you." Kay leaned forward again, his hands clasped between his knees. "How is your German?"

-oOo-

Burbank, Los Angeles

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" the bubbly red asked Chuck.

"I did," he nodded with a look of wistful reminiscence. "Her name was Jill. We met at Stanford. There was a whole group of us. Me... Jill... Bryce..." Chuck took a deep breath as he prepared to tell his story.

"How's he doing," Ellie asked her fiancé, Dr. Devon Woodcombe.

They both knew the question was rhetorical. Chuck was sinking.

"Not awesome," Devon looked up from his conversation with one of his old Fraternity buddies and gave a disappointed glance in Chuck's direction. "The guy's still hurting, babe. It's going to be some time before he can bring himself to trust another woman."

"...and there I was," Chuck sighed. "Me on a bus heading back to Stanford while Bryce and Jill..."

He fell silent after finally noticing that he was alone. Looking around him, the girl who had been eager to talk to him earlier had gone.

"Can I give you a tip?" Ellie approached him from a crowd of the partygoers. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him to sit on the edge of the fountain with her. "Even though we might ask, we don't want to hear about past girlfriends."

"Right," Chuck shrugged, his head dropping.

"Stanford was two years ago, Chuck. It's time to forget it and move on."

"How can I forget, Ellie?" Chuck's voice grew a little weary. "Bryce was my best friend. We did everything together. And he goes and steals my girlfriend? I mean, if it hadn't been for Bryce Larkin, I would probably be happily engaged, just like you and Captain Awesome are. I proposed to her, Ellie. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. And I would have had a great job at the aircraft plant here in Burbank, designing airplane electrical systems and radios and this new radar stuff and, and... But then I found her in bed with Bryce and I was so screwed up, I missed the interview. So instead, I'm still single and I pump gas, fix car radios and sell soda's at Buy More Gas and Go."

"She wasn't the one," Ellie placed her hand on his arm. "There's someone out there for you, Chuck. You just need to be prepared to grab her and never let go."

"And when I find her," Chuck sighed, "she'll probably be more interested in Bryce. Even your friend you set me up with liked him. They always prefer Bryce."

"Then maybe," Ellie squeezed his arm as she started to head back indoors. "You should just turn around and steal one of his girlfriends."

"Hello-o!" Chuck called to her. "This is Bryce freaking Larkin we're talking about!"

-oOo-

_March 1940_

Geneva, Switzerland

"Bryce freaking Larkin!" the young man shook hands with the dark-haired spy as he entered the room. "I haven't seen you since the Frat House in Stanford. Welcome to the United States Embassy, Geneva, Switzerland."

"Todd," Bryce smiled back as the two young man shook hands. "It's good to see you. So this is where you wound up?"

"Diplomatic Service," he grinned, taking a grandiose look around the reception hall. "I'm a Deputy Assistant to the Assistant Under Secretary."

"That's great," Bryce nodded. "You've certainly landed on your feet."

"You too," Todd nodded. "I hear you are some kind of hot shot trouble-shooter now? I hear that you are going into The Reich with some trade delegation to make sure we keep our trade going?"

"Now, come on, Todd," Bryce winked. "You of all people should know that I can't discuss that with you."

"Well, whatever you are up to, I hope you have time to come to dinner with Annette and me."

"Annette?" Bryce cocked an eyebrow.

"My fiancée," Todd grinned, unfolding his wallet to show Bryce a snapshot. "She works here, also."

"As a secretary?" Bryce gave a little smirk.

"How did you know that?" Todd frowned as he tucked his photograph back into his wallet. "Hey have you seen much of any of the others? Terrence? Bradley? How about Charles? You and Chuck still best buddies?"

"I haven't seen anyone since Stanford," Bryce shook his head. "And as for Chuck? Let's just say that we haven't been best buds since he caught me in bed banging his fiancée. So what was that about dinner with you and Annette?"

The lecherous grin on Bryce's face made Todd's stomach turn cold.

-oOo-

Bryce was sure that Mr. Kay, the G-man from the back of the truck on his exercise, was wearing the same suit that he had worn that night. He sat behind a desk on which sat a myriad of papers.

"Mr. Larkin," Mr. Kay looked up from a file he was reading. "I trust your journey was satisfactory."

"It was long, it was complicated," Bryce glared. "Why did you make it so complicated?"

"To make sure that you were not being followed," Kay shrugged. "We have invested a lot of time and money on this mission, Larkin. We do not want to see it fail because you crossed paths with someone you had already dealt with in Spain."

"Any enemies I crossed paths with in Spain would certainly not be anywhere other than in Spain where I left them. Six feet under."

"We can't be too sure," Kay gave a nod of his head. "There is far too much at stake and time is of the essence. Already, Poland has been crushed and the Wehrmacht is moving from one side of the continent to the other. France and the low countries will be next, and then Britain. Judging by the way they brushed aside the Poles, I can't see it being any different in France or in Britain. We must get those papers before the whole of Europe becomes a Nazi Fortress and they can then turn their attention to us."

"So why are we wasting time talking?" Bryce rolled his eyes. "Let's do this."

"The maps you requested are there," Kay indicated a table by the window. "Along with all of the equipment you requested. The timers, explosives, the two guns and the ammo. Naturally, we would prefer it if you could obtain those papers without the Germans knowing, but if you must destroy the evidence... We'll allow you some latitude on your planning. Are you sure you don't need someone to accompany you? Someone to watch your back? We have a number of fine candidates here in Geneva."

"I've got it covered," Bryce spoke from the table where he was inspecting his equipment. He lifted an Enfield no 2 pistol, and after pulling back the hammer, hi flicked the barrel, watching it spin. He checked the chambers and closed the hammer. A grin lit his face. "It's time to say goodbye."

-oOo-

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Kay leaned against the side of the Mercedes Benz 540, speaking through the rear window to the passenger.

"I have everything I need," he nodded. "I'll see you at the rendezvous point in one month."

"And if you fail to make it?"

"I won't," Bryce grinned. "I'm Bryce freaking Larkin.

As the Mercedes pulled away and steered toward the mains entrance, the two soldiers on duty pulled the gates open. The Under-Secretary joined Mr. Kay as they watched the sleek, black car slip through.

"I almost hope that he fails," the Under Secretary smirked.

"Are you kidding?" Kay cocked an eyebrow. "You heard him. He's Bryce freaking Larkin."

"Is he that good?"

"Best you've ever seen."

From beyond the gates, there was a loud and sudden blaring of horns. A squeal of brakes was followed by the sound of metal crunching and an explosion. Mr. Kay and the Undersecretary ran for the gates in hot pursuit of the two soldiers who were also rushing out. A twisted wreck of metal and a fire was all that remained of the Mercedes and a Citroen. The soldiers were already pulling bodies from the tangled mess. One of them was Larkin. Kay was by his side in an instant.

"Bartowski!" Larkin gasped. "Get Chuck Bartowski!"

Bryce Larkin's body went limp.

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. But Chuck will have to do.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Chuck', the TV Series or the characters. I don't own DC Comics or any of their characters, either.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** I have decided that in My world, the language, slang and jargon used in the 30's/40's USA is pretty much same as it is in the early 21st Century. I think I would lose the 'Chuck' factor if I called him a 'wet sock' rather than a Nerd.

Thank you for your reviews. Always appreciated.

**Chapter 2: Chuck vs The Major**

_March 1940_

Burbank, Los Angeles

"You're up early," Ellie Bartowski observed as she shuffled into the kitchen where she found Chuck already eating breakfast. "Any reason in particular?"

"Promise you won't freak out?" he looked up over his corn flakes at his sister who was tying her towelling dressing gown.

"Why would I freak out?" Ellie picked up a cup and moved across to the coffee pot on the stove.

"Because I have an interview in..." he raised his wrist to look at his watch, "three hours and twenty minutes."

"Oh my gosh!" Ellie squealed with unconstrained delight. "This is big. This is huge! Why am I just learning this now, Chuck?"

"Because I didn't want you to freak out..." he looked up with a wry smile. "Kind of like you are now."

"This is fantastic news!" she continued to squeal as she crossed to the kitchen table and hugged Chuck from behind. "I'm so proud of you little brother. I knew it wouldn't take you long to realise you were too good for the Buy More. Where is the interview? Who is it with?"

"It's for a stunt man's job with MGM Studios and..." he paused as he saw the unimpressed glare from his sister. "I am so totally kidding. It's at the Northrop Aircraft Corporation here in Burbank. Apparently, they're looking for more engineers for their design team."

"At last," Ellie looked skyward and mustered a silent prayer of thanks. "Things are coming together for you. You get a new job and then you can find yourself a nice girl and..."

"Whoa, whoa, El!" Chuck rose from the table, lifting his plate and cup. "Let me get the job first, huh? I mean, they might not even hire me."

"Why would they not hire you?" Ellie beamed as she watched him cross to the sink to place the crockery in the sink. "You're smart, you're charming, you have a degree from Stanford..."

"Uh huh," he nodded. "And I gotta go."

"Why so early?" she looked up at the clock on the wall.

"I thought I'd drop in at the Buy More," he cast a sheepish look.

"But it's your day off," she frowned

"I know," Chuck nodded "I'm just gonna say hi to Morgan... and the latest edition of Detective Comics is out, so..."

"Chuck..." Ellie released a sigh of disappointment.

"Baby steps, El," he shrugged. "Baby steps."

Picking up his wallet and his keys, Chuck opened the front door.

"Wish me luck," he turned and smiled at his sister.

"You don't need it," she chuckled. "But good luck, anyway."

"See you later, Devon," Chuck called loudly and gave his blushing sister a wink before he closed the door behind him.

"How did he know I was even here?" Dr. Devon Woodcombe stepped out from Ellie's room wearing just a pair of boxer shorts, shaking his head with embarrassed disbelief.

-oOo-

Thursday mornings, especially Thursday mornings that coincided with his day off was Chuck's favourite time of the week. That was when the Buy More Gas and Go took delivery of the latest batch of comic books. Comic books that Chuck enjoyed reading, immensely. He and Morgan eagerly awaited not only the latest edition of Detective Comics, with the current exploits of The Batman, but hopefully, the new Superman and Buck Rogers comics would be there, too.

Chuck thought that Comic book heroes were great. They didn't ever pass judgement on you, they didn't ever accuse you of being boring, and they would never laugh at you because you weren't athletic or didn't have a he-man's body. And they would never betray a friendship and would rather face a hundred of their very worst nemesises... nemesisi... very worst enemies than sleep with a friend's fiancée. Yes, sir. Comic books were...

"Hello," Chuck blinked as the window display at Wally Green's Electrical Wholesalers caught his attention.

Amongst the latest household labour-saving devices was a new crystal radio set. He stopped and stared at the sleek piece of hardware.

"Oh, wow," he drooled. "The latest Emerson radio. An AD 3 with five octal GT tubes from Tungsram and a ballast tube in an Ingraham cabinet."

That was when he caught the reflection of the man in the window.

At first, Chuck thought that the man might simply be looking at the radio, himself, except for the fact that he was on the opposite side of the street. He also looked a little out of place, dressed as he was in that dark suit and dark hat. He seemed to be looking at Chuck, yet trying very hard not to appear as though he was doing so. Chuck frowned and wondered why someone would be watching him, if in fact the other man was really watching him at all and Chuck was being just a little paranoid. He turned away from the display and with as much nonchalance as he could muster, walked further along the road to the next store front. As he paused to look in the window, he saw that the reflection of the man had also moved with him and had stopped, too. He also thought he noticed another man, only a little further up the street, turning to look at him every few moments. He too was dressed in an identical dark suit and dark hat. In the Californian sunshine, they stood out like a pair of sore thumbs.

"Don't freak out," he told himself.

Using the windows of the next half a dozen store fronts, Chuck noticed that there were at least three men, all dressed in dark suits and dark hats and all moving slowly with him. All of them were trying hard not to appear as though they were watching. When he finally reached the Buy More, Chuck nodded to his two colleagues, Jeff and Lester. Jeff was staring into space as he pumped gas into a Ford Coupe while Lester washed the car's windows. Pausing to use the windows to confirm that he was still being followed, Chuck made his way into the Gas and Go. Just inside the doorway, at the comic stand, he grabbed the nearest magazine and pretended to read it while watching through the window.

"Chuck!" Morgan, in his green and yellow striped apron and hat called from behind the counter where he was cleaning the soda fountain. "Good to see you, man. Just wait till you see this month's edition of Detective Comics. You'll never guess what the Bat..."

"Not now, Morgan," Chuck pretended to be engrossed in a comic book.

The three men were still there, watching the front of the store.

"I wonder what they want?" he asked in a hushed tone meant only for his ears.

"You wonder what who wants, Chuck?" Morgan asked from beside him, making Chuck jump out of his skin.

"You okay, Buddy?" Morgan asked, looking surprised at Chuck's exclamation. "You seem a little..."

"Freaked out?"

"Yeah," Morgan agreed. "Like that time you thought Jeff and Lester had set you up on that blind date with Jeff's sister."

"Isn't she the one who does that dance with the... and with no clothes on?"

"Yeah," both Morgan and Chuck shuddered. "And the less we say about that the better."

"Right," Chuck nodded, bringing his nerves under control. "Yeah. It's just that you... and then..."

"Right, right," Morgan nodded. "So you wonder who wants what?" Morgan looked at the comic Chuck had picked up. "Oh, Buck Rogers. Right. You're wondering what Wilma's bosses want now, right? Well, I gotta tell you, Chuck. As your best friend, you know I'm not going to spoil the story for you. You're going to have to read it and find out for yourself."

"Right," Chuck nodded. "Of course I will, little buddy."

"Are you okay?" Morgan frowned. "'Cause I gotta say, you're acting a little weird this morning. I mean, weirder than normal. Hey, look at this. You can send off for these neat spy gizmos. Look. X-Ray specs. Man, just imagine the fun we could have with that. Do you really think you can see through ladies' clothes with these?"

"Grow up, Morgan!" a pretty little Chinese American girl snarled from behind the counter.

Like Morgan she was dressed in a green and yellow striped apron and hat. But Anna was a girl who pushed the latest fashions to their limit. She wore her skirts a whole two inches above her knee and the lipstick she wore was as bright red as a fire truck. She was also the centre of the desire of almost every male employee at the Buy More.

"Sorry, Anna," he shrugged. "I was thinking in terms of scientific research only."

"I don't know why you hang out with him, Chuckles," Anna shook her head and disappeared into the back of the building.

While Chuck certainly didn't harbour any desires towards Anna, he was not sure of Anna's own desires.

"Anyway, I was kind of thinking. Maybe you and me could start to put together our own array of Bat..."

"Morgan," Chuck turned to his friend. Telling Morgan his suspicions that he was being followed would be a mistake of catastrophic proportions. Morgan would go all secret-agent on him and turn the whole thing into some game. "Can I use the back door? I think 'She who we do not mention' is out there."

"Oh, man," Morgan rolled his eyes. "Is she still trying to get you to forgive her? I mean, come on! It's been two years already. You know how I'm with Ellie on this one, buddy, right? Ellie and I both know that you're likely to give in to her if you let her start talking to you and batting those big brown eyes at you. 'Cause we both know what a sucker you are for brown eyed brunettes. Especially when they're called Jill and she's the only girl you've made whoopie with. So yeah. Go for it. I'll go steal the keys. Meet you at the back door."

At the back door, Morgan used a large set of keys to open the door. After checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, Chuck stepped through and into the rear courtyard.

"Hey, Chuck," Morgan called. "Are we on for the shooting gallery at the pier tonight?"

"Again, buddy?" Chuck grinned. "Aren't you fed up with being creamed?"

"Okay, so it's uncanny how good you are with the pistols, but I think it's time we stepped up to the rifles."

"If you're sure, Morgan," Chuck gave a smile and turned away with a friendly wave.

Hurrying through the back alley that the store's back door opened into, Chuck emerged back onto the main road some distance from the Buy More. He looked back to see that the men were still in position in front of the Gas and Go, watching for him to come out. Wondering what the heck they were following him for anyway, Chuck turned and hurried toward the Northrop factory.

-oOo-

"Hi," Chuck smiled at the short, dumpy blonde who sat behind the desk chewing gum and filing her nails. The celebrity magazine that lay open on the desk in front of her seemed more interesting to her than Chuck's appearance did. "My name is Chuck... Charles. Charles Bartowski. I'm here to see Mr. Ableman."

"Mr. Ableman is expecting you," the blonde didn't even look up. "He's in the boardroom at the end of this corridor. Just go right on in."

"Thanks," Chuck looked at her for a moment before walking down the hallway that the woman had indicated.

-oOo-

"Mr. Bartowski," Mr. Ableman stood as Chuck entered the room. "Thank you for joining us today, and at such short notice. Please. Take a seat."

"Thank you, Mr. Ableman, sir," Chuck nodded as he took the indicated seat. "Thank you for this opportunity to show you how much I have to offer Northrop Aircraft Corporation. I'm sure..."

"Mr. Bartowski," Ableman interrupted him. "Please. This is not..."

"Chuck." It was Chuck's turn to interrupt. "Call me Chuck."

"Mr. Bartowski," Ableman gave a small nod. "I'm afraid we have brought you here under false pretenses. You're not really here to interview for the Northrop Aircraft Corporation."

"I'm not?" Chuck blinked.

Mr. Ableman gave a slow shake of his head as the door opened, and the three suited men that had been following Chuck entered. The men sat down by the doorway.

"Then why am I here?" Chuck spoke in a slow, nervous monotone as he cast a worried, suspicious glance at the newcomers and then back at Ableman.

"You see, Mr. Bartowski," the man continued. "I'm not from Northrop, I'm from Washington."

"Okay," Chuck nodded, his eyes looking a little wary. "Okay. So you're from Boeing and not Northrop. I mean, Seattle's not so far right?" He turned to look at the three men seeking their agreement. "Right?"

"No, Mr. Bartowski," Ableman shook his head. "Not Seattle. D.C."

"Okay," the tall youth blinked. "Are there any aircraft factories in Washington, D.C."

"None that I am aware of," the older man shook his head.

"So why am I here?" Chuck's eyes narrowed.

"You're here because your country needs you, Charles Bartowski."

"I gotta tell you, Mr. Ableman," Chuck almost whimpered. "I think I'm starting to freak out. My hands are growing moist and everything."

"There's no need to worry, Mr. Bartowski," he spoke in a calm voice. "It's nothing you can't handle."

"Okay," Chuck swallowed. "Okay. And what is it exactly that my country needs me to do?"

"Quite recently, we sent one of our agents on a mission of vital importance to the long term safety of our great nation." Ableman nodded toward the back. One of the men stood up and turned off the lights. Almost at once, a projector started, showing an image of two cars in a twisted, burnt out wreck. "This is what happened to that agent."

Chuck winced and swallowed hard.

"We would like you to continue that mission, Mr. Bartowski," Ableman turned and faced him. "We want you to accept an espionage mission and complete what our last agent could not."

"You want me to be a spy?" Chuck's jaw dropped. "I'm not a spy. I'm just a guy who... Wait, wait, wait, wait." He pointed at the image of the wrecked cars, a sense of dread panic filling him. "You mean your last agent was killed during that mission? That means that they will expect you guys to send another one, doesn't it? Won't the bad guys just kill him, too? I mean, me?"

"The agent was not targeted by the 'bad guys', Mr. Bartowski," Ableman shook his head. "This was a piece of really bad luck. A one in a million chance. This was caused by an old man having a heart attack at the wheel of his car. His foot jammed on the accelerator and he crashed into our agent's car."

"But I'm not a spy!" Chuck protested. "I'm not even a Boy Scout. Heck, I wasn't even into sports! I'm just a... a nerd. The only thing I excel at is reading comic books, pumping gas and performing feats of electrical and mechanical engineering. Not feats of espionage and daring do! I'm not that guy."

"Our agent," Ableman nodded at the image, "seemed to think you are. Bryce said that you have a talent that we could use."

"Wait!" Chuck gasped. "Bryce? Bryce who? Bryce Larkin? Bryce Larkin from Connecticut is a spy?"

"And he has recommended you. There is a war coming, Mr. Bartowski. A war which, even though we are to all intents and purposes, neutral, we will be dragged into, eventually. And if we are not ready, we could find our way of life a thing of the past. Would you like to see Nazi Stormtroopers goose stepping into Burbank and dragging your sister away because they think she's subhuman?"

"What?" he frowned. "Why would they even do that?"

"Have you read 'Mein Kampf'? The book written by Adolf Hitler."

"I don't even speak German," Chuck shook his head. "Let alone read it."

"Herr Hitler says that the 'Untermensch' should be... 'removed' for the expansion of the Aryan race. Do you know what the term 'untermensch' means?"

"Under... men?" Chuck queried with his eyebrows raised.

"It's the word the Nazi's use for people they believe are inferior to the Aryan race. Subhuman, if you will. And to them, that means Jews, Gypsy's and Slavs. Pretty much anyone to the east of them. Would you like to hazard a guess as to where the name Bartowski comes from?"

"Slav?" Chuck gulped. "No. No, I'm not the one you want. I can't do things like that. Bryce is the guy you want. Get Bryce. He was always into sports and doing dangerous things. He's the spy. You said so yourself. Get Bryce to do it."

"We can't use Larkin, Mr. Bartowski," a short, red headed army officer with an impressive array of campaign medals on his chest emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. Even though he had nothing to do with the military, Chuck recognised the stars on his shoulder as the rank of General. "He was in that Mercedes."

Blinking in surprise and shock, Chuck looked from the General, to the screen and back to the General again.

"Mr. Bartowski," Ableman spoke formally. "This is General Dwayne Beckman."

"This is the asset?" the General sounded almost disgusted.

"Bryce Larkin recommended him," Ableman offered.

"Just what is it that the asset can do?" the General looked the tall, young man up and down.

"Exactly!" Chuck exclaimed. "What can I do? And do you have to speak like I'm not even here? Hello?"

"The asset has a certain... talent that means he will not have to rely on the skills that Larkin demonstrated so proficiently."

"Are you suggesting that the asset will simply walk in to Nazi Germany and just ask them for the information?"

"Say what now?" Chuck double blinked.

"In a manner of speaking," Ableman nodded, "yes. That is exactly what the asset will do."

"What about backup?" the General demanded. "I will refuse to sanction this unless I can send someone with him. Someone with a military background, to ensure that once... if he does get the information then that information will be brought back out successfully."

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"As a matter of fact," the general snapped his fingers. "I do."

Another man, a soldier in his mid thirties wearing a smart dress uniform and the insignia of a Major marched into the room, his footsteps sounding louder than anyone else could have made. He stopped in front of the general and snapped to attention with a last stamp of a single foot and a smart, crisp salute.

"Major John Casey, reporting for duty as instructed, sir!"

"At ease, Major," the General returned the salute, albeit a little less sharp and crisp.

"Sir!" Major John Casey barked and stood to the at ease position, removing his peaked cap as he did.

"This is Major John Casey of the U.S. Marine Corps," General Beckman informed them. "He is the best of the best, of the best. He's an expert in unarmed combat, demolitions, stealth, a lethal shot, speaks fluent German and most important of all, he's a patriot. He will go with the asset..."

"Hello-o!" Chuck stood up and shouted while waving his hand in the air. "The asset has a name, you know.

While the General ignored him, the Major looked at him and scowled. Chuck was sure that he heard a growl.

"Major Casey will go with the asset wherever he goes," the General informs him. "He won't even be able to go to the john without... well, without John."

"Did you just crack a joke?" Chuck grinned at the General.

Everyone just stared at him.

"Jeepers," Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes.

"Moron," Major Casey growled.

"Look," Chuck stepped into the middle of the small group. "I haven't even said I would do this. I really don't think that I want to go all the way to Germany where I'm some kind of untermensch and let stormtroopers stormtroop all over me, just to try and do some kind of spy work that not only do I not know about but I wouldn't know how to do if I did. I mean, they shoot spies, don't they?"

"You now know all about our plans." Abelman shrugged. "Either you go to Germany and do this job for us or we'll put you in a concrete bunker for so long that you'll forget what fresh air smells like."

"That's if we don't just shoot you and save the taxpayer's dime," Casey smirked.

"Germany it is, then," Chuck gave a nervous shrug and returned to his seat.

"Begging the General's pardon, sir," Casey snapped to attention again. "But what can this moron do that I can't? Why send a boy to do a man's job?"

Casey's voice dropped to a sneer when he said the word, boy.

"Hear that?" Chuck stood up again. "Listen to the man. He obviously knows what he's talking about, even if he does have to insult me at the same time."

"Sit down!" Major Casey barked.

"Sitting down," he complied.

"There's probably not much, if anything that the asset can do that you can't Major Casey," Ableman stated. "There is, however, one important thing that the asset has that you don't. And that's what he's going to use for us and get us the information we need."

"And what's that?" Casey sounded both doubtful and disgusted. "What does he have that I don't... or couldn't learn myself?"

"That, Major Casey," another man answered from the back of the room, "is probably above your pay grade. However, the mission in general is what we are all here to discuss."

He was perhaps in his late forties or early fifties. He was short and slightly overweight with wavy salt and pepper hair and a thin moustache. He started to make his way to the small group.

"And who are you?" Casey demanded.

"My name, is Carl Norden. I make... specialist equipment that our armed forces will need in the inevitable event of all out war with Germany. And I need you, Mr Bartowski, to go to Schweinfurt in the heart of Nazi Germany, and steal from them, the secret of how to make miniature steel ball bearings."

"Chuck me," Major John Casey growled.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. It seems that Chuck is on his way, regardless.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Chuck', the TV Series or the characters. I don't own DC Comics or any of their characters, either.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** I have decided that in **My** world, the language, slang and jargon used in the 30's/40's USA is pretty much same as it is in the early 21st Century. I think I would lose the 'Chuck' factor if I called him a 'wet sock' rather than a Nerd.

Thank you for your reviews. Always appreciated.

A reviewer asked,** "And what's so special about the Ball Bearings?" ** Quite simply, ball bearings were essential to any Armed force: The Airforce could not fly without them, the tanks and armored cars could not roll in their missions of death. Indeed, World War II could not have been fought without them. Spitfires and ME109s used at least four thousand bearings per plane: roughly equivalent to those used by the Flying Fortresses. Guns, bombsights, electrical generators and engines, ventilating systems, ships, submarines, railroads, mining machinery, communications devices - these existed on ball bearings. So, I just decided that the Nazi's were the only ones who knew how to make them at that time so I could give Chuck a 'believable' mission that would suit his particular 'skillset'. Apologies to History buffs.

**Chapter 3 – Chuck vs the Crossing**

_March 1940_

Burbank, Los Angeles

"Well?" Ellie was beside herself with anticipation when she arrived home from her shift at the hospital. "How did it go?"

_'You can't tell anyone_', they had told him. _'Not your sister, not your friends, anyone. To keep them safe, you can't tell them anything._' Hating the thought of lying to his sister, Chuck had tried to formulate a story that was as close to the truth as possible.

"I got the job," Chuck forced a grin of excitement.

"Ooooh!" Ellie did a little tap dance of delight as she clutched both fists beneath her chin. She then launched herself at Chuck, hugging him as though her life depended upon it. "I so knew they would see that you were perfect for them. When do you start?"

"I start in April," Chuck hugged his sister back, hoping that he would not be doing this for the last time. "Someone will come and collect me and take me to where... I'll do my job."

Not a single lie. Perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.

"What do you mean, take you?" Ellie leaned back with a frown. "I thought the job was here in Burbank?"

Crap.

"It's, uh... in Seattle, El."

"Seattle?" Ellie blinked. Her eyes went distant for a moment before coming back to Chuck. "That's not so far. We can come up and visit you. And you can always come home to visit us."

Double Crap.

"As much as I would love that," Chuck closed his eyes in a silent prayer for forgiveness, "The job is kind of secret and I'm not going to be able to contact anyone for a few months."

He saw the look of devastation on Ellie's face.

"Wait," Ellie started to frown. "Secret? As in... Chuck? Are you going to be working on planes for the military?"

"Like I said, Ellie," he gave her a look of sympathy. "Secret. Which means I could tell you, but..."

"But then you'd have to shoot me?" she rolled her eyes at the old lame joke.

"Uh, no," Chuck shook his head. "Then it would be treason and I would be the one getting shot."

"Chuck..." Ellie gave him one of her famous 'glares'.

"But as soon as I can, I'll be straight back here to visit you, I promise."

He hoped.

Ellie thought about things for a moment before nodding her head.

"Well, I always wanted you to do better than the Buy More so I guess this is the price I'm going to have to pay. So when are you quitting that place and when are you telling Morgan?"

Triple Crap.

-oOo-

_Early April 1940_

Miners Field Army Air Force Base, Los Angeles

Major John Casey stood in front of his locker as he sorted through the contents, trying to determine what he would need to take against what he could actually take.

"Major Casey," General Beckman appeared in the deserted corridor. "A word."

With a light nod of his head, the little red-headed General indicated a more private room.

"At ease," he told the Major when he closed the door behind them. They had stepped into a deserted shooting range. Some forty or fifty feet away, a human shaped wooden target stood close to a wall of sandbags. "You preparing to leave?"

"Affirmative, sir," Casey nodded. "I'm just about to go and collect the asset prior to our departure at..." he looked at his watch. "Fourteen thirty."

"Good," the General gave a nervous nod. He looked around the room as though to make sure they really were alone. "I don't know what those bureaucrats in Washington think they're playing at, sending this untrained kid to do a professional's job, but I want to make one thing clear."

"And what is that, sir?" Casey was standing to attention.

"If, and I stress that word heavily... If this kid manages to obtain those secrets, then I do not want him holding you back from returning to the US with them."

"You mean, leave him behind?" Casey's eyes narrowed as he considered the _Sempur Fidelis_ motto of the Marines.

"Only if you have to. If it becomes obviouse that you will not be able to extract both Bartowski and the secrets, you are to take the secrets and leave him behind. Preferably in a condition that will not allow him to talk," the General nodded. "Get those secrets back to D.C. just as fast as is humanly possible and I will be talking to a Colonel. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Casey snapped to attention and gave a salute.

"As you were, Major," General Beckman gave a nod and left the room.

In one swift and fluid motion, Casey drew his Colt M1911 pistol from inside his jacket, spun towards the targets, took aim and fired three tightly clustered shots into the head of the wood target.

"My favourite sounds."

-oOo-

Honk! Honk!

"Come on, Bartowski," John Casey was leaning against the Dodge Luxury Liner Deluxe D-11, his arm reaching through the side window and pressing the horn. "Let's move it out!"

Chuck appeared from the apartment complex's archway, lugging a large suitcase full of his clothes.

"Hi, Casey," Chuck acknowledged as he lifted the case into the trunk that Casey had opened for him. "Nice day, isn't it?"

Chuck was almost positive that the grunt Casey had made had meant 'I agree'. It could, however, just as easily meant 'Get in the damn car and shut up.'

Casey started the car and pulled off, easing into the Los Angeles traffic and heading back to Miners Field, a military air base that would one day become more commonly known as 'LAX'. Chuck noticed the guard towers and the barbed wire fence.

"Are we going somewhere to put me through my basic training?" Chuck asked him.

"Basic training?" Casey frowned.

"You know," Chuck nodded. "Spy stuff. Secret messages, code words, writing in invisible ink. That kind of stuff."

"You don't need to know about any of that," the Major shook his head.

"Okay," Chuck continued. "What about hand to hand fighting? Or how about the use of weapons and explosives? I mean. When do I get to learn how to shoot a real gun?"

"As long as you can run when I tell you to, that's all you need to learn. You're not going to learn how to put yourself in danger, Bartowski," Casey had growled at him. "You leave that to me."

"Leave putting me in danger to you," Chuck deadpanned. "Got it."

-oOo-

From Miners field, they flew in three hops across the country, arriving outside of New York a few days later. They spent a few days at General Motors in Bristol, Connecticut so that Chuck would know a lot more about his cover than just words in a file. He spent those days wandering around the factory, learning the names of some of the managers as well as wandering around the town. He and Casey then caught the train back to New York where they checked and rechecked their luggage making sure that there was nothing to tie Chuck to his 'real' life in Burbank. Then at last, they boarded the SS Baltimore and Chuck was sick almost every day, and not through seasickness.

Chuck was terrified.

-oOo-

_April, 1940_

The Atlantic Ocean

Halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, approaching the Straits of Gibraltar, the SS Baltimore, was bound for Naples in southern Italy. Pounding their way around the decks, Major John Casey and Charles Bartowski were enjoying the fresh sea air with another lap of the upper deck. Rather, one of them was enjoying it.

"I told you that I wasn't much of an athlete," Chuck wheezed. "I'm not even sure why you're putting me through this. It's not like I'm going to be doing any real spying."

"Because we have to make sure that if you get the information we need, you stay alive long enough to bring it back stateside so we can use it." Major Casey growled. "Besides. It passes the time."

"But I thought it was your job was to make sure I stayed alive."

Casey answered him with a long, low grunt. The one that could possibly be translated as "Shut up, Moron." It was probably Casey's favourite and most used grunt.

"What did you tell your sister and your friend?"

"That it's a hush-hush job up in Seattle and I can't contact them for a while," Chuck gasped between deep breaths. "My sister is really pissed, Casey. And I really don't like lying to her."

"The only thing you're lying about is Seattle," Casey growled. "Now shut up and keep running. Only another twenty-two laps to go."

Chuck just groaned with near exhaustion.

-oOo-

"What happens if a U-Boat shoots us?" Chuck asked. "I can't swim, Casey."

"That's why we're on a boat registered in the U.S.A. bound for a country allied to the Germans. We have more chance of the damned Royal Navy shooting us than the Nazis."

"And then what?"

"As soon as we arrive in Naples, we catch a train north. We'll meet our contacts in Switzerland who will take us to the border with Germany where we'll meet our... escorts."

"Won't they know we're spies?"

"No, numb nuts," Casey shook his head. "We're trying our best to look like what we say we are. You are Charles Carmichael, a mechanical engineer with General Motors in Bristol, Connecticut. I'm John Alexander, your bodyguard. Were on a business trip to ensure that GM can still be supplied with ball bearings during this war. Why would they think someone like you is a spy?"

"What kind of businessman travels with a ex-military bodyguard?" Chuck shook his head.

"The kind who travels into a war zone and wants to stay alive, moron."

"Hey, Casey," their laps completed, Chuck was gasping as he bent over with his hand supporting himself on his knees. "Want to go see a movie tonight? They're showing one in the state room."

"Which one?"

"Hell's Kitchen," Chuck informed him. "Starring Ronald Reagan."

"A fine and decent actor," Casey nodded. "Why not?"

-oOo-

_May 1940_

Geneva, Switzerland

A journey that, during peacetime, would take a day or two, it had taken them nearly a week to travel by train from Naples, to Geneva by way of Rome. Throughout the Italian countryside, they could see signs of mobilization and the ongoing war, even if there had been little in the way of hostilities so far. To be specific, Casey could see the signs. Chuck was more interested in the beautiful Italian countryside and the signs of ancient Roman civilization.

"At Stanford," Chuck had explained, "I tool a couple of modules on the Roman Empire. It's just so cool seeing all this stuf. I wish we could spend more time in Rome."

As April drew to a close, they arrived in Switzerland and Chuck was positively blown away by the lakes and the mountains still capped with snow.

"You haven't left Los Angeles much, have you?" Casey shook his head.

-oOo-

"Major Casey," Mr. Kay, still dressed in his standard suit greeted the two men, pointedly ignoring Chuck. "It's about time you got here. Things are happening, you know."

"You should have sent us on a more direct route," Casey grunted. There was no way he was going to take responsibility for someone else's bad planning. "Give me a sitrep."

"Yesterday morning, the Germans launched a full offensive through Luxembourg, Belgium and Holland."

"They bypassed the Maginot line, huh?" Casey smirked. "Bet that pleased the French. What did they do? Go straight through the Ardennes Forest?"

"The French and the British said that was impossible."

"Of course they did," Casey grunted. "They'd never catch us out like that."

"There's no time to waste," Kay informed him. "You leave for Germany in the morning."

-oOo-

"You're buddy is a strange guy," Chuck's old Fraternity friend, Todd told him as the two were catching up. "All the top brass have been falling over themselves to find out what he's up to, but all he does is grunts at them."

"Apparently, he's the best of the best, of the best," Chuck smirked.

"They says he's a stone cold killer, a burnout."

"What does that even mean?" Chuck narrowed his eyes. "All I know is that he's the best at what he does and he's acting as my bodyguard while I go and negotiate this trade deal."

"I must admit," Todd shrugged. "I never pegged you for the world of business. I always figured you end up with someone like IBM."

"Well, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but you know me..."

"I saw Bryce the other week," Todd turned and smirked at him.

"Did you?" Chuck's voice went cold.

"He said he hadn't seen you in a while. Have you seen much of the others? Terrence? Bradley? How about Jill? Did you and Jill ever tie the knot?"

From the way he spoke, Chuck knew that Todd was well informed about the situation regarding Bryce and Jill. He also realised that Todd was laughing at him. Chuck chose not to answer him.

"So what are you up to, Chuck?" Todd turned and tried to give him his most intimidating stare. "You can tell me."

"What do you mean?" Chuck hedged.

"Why the fake papers and the name change?" he started to lean in with a threatening menace. "And why are they sending a badass like John Alexander to babysit a nerd like you? 'Cause you know what, Bartowski? You're no Bryce freaking Larkin."

"Amen to that," Chuck backed away. "And as for what we're up to? Why don't you go and ask Alexander? He might tell you. After he hangs you from a coat hook."

-oOo-

At last, the unlikely pair were on board a train bound for Basel on the border with Nazi Germany. As the train pulled into the station, Chuck sensed at once, the different atmosphere from Geneva. Everything seemed tense. They picked up their cases and headed for the red, white and black striped huts that marked the entrance to Nazi Germany. On one side of the border flew a single red flag with a white cross. On the other, dozens of red flags with the black swastikas in white circles fluttered in the breeze.

"Herr Carmichael?" a man in a long, black overcoat and black fedora hat stepped in front of them, clicked his heels and gave a curt bow to the two Americans. "I am Herr Mauser. I am to be your guide for your stay here in Germany." He raised his right arm at his elbow. "Heil Hitler."

"Uh, yeah," Chuck gave a nervous nod, his own arm giving an uncomfortable twitch. "Hi, yourself."

"You will please put your luggage on the table," he indicated a long row of trestle tables behind which a line of men in black uniforms, all with rifles slung over their backs, stood waiting. "This way. Come."

"Gestapo," Casey whispered to him as they followed the black coated man toward the tables.

Chuck gave a nervous nod while two soldiers in black uniforms followed close behind. Chuck gave a dry swallow when he saw the skull and crossbones emblem on their caps and the stylized lightning bolt SS on their collars.

"Don't freak out," he whimpered under his breath.

Chuck followed the rest of the passengers and placed his case next to Casey's on the table. Herr Mauser stood next to them, carefully watching as the two guards looked through their possessions. When they had finished, the cases were closed and a chalk 'X' was written on top.

"And now, you will follow me," Mauser gave a satisfied nod and led them toward a train festooned with Swastikas

The journey through Germany was nowhere near as exciting as Italy, or Switzerland. While Chuck was sure that the views would be just as spectacular, they weren't allowed to see where they were going. Mauser had ensured that the windows had been screened so that they could not see outside and his presence with them on the train prevented them from taking sneak peeks.

Chuck followed a mental map in his head as the stations were announced by loudspeakers at the stations at which they stopped. Fribourg, Baden Baden, Karlsruhe, Heidelberg, Mannheim and Darmstadt.

The only sights they saw were the station platforms at Frankfurt where they changed trains, and Schweinfurt when they arrived. All Chuck could remember of either station was the number of red and black Swastikas on display – everywhere - and the vast number of soldiers waiting for trains. Even when he was inside the American bases on his outward journey, Chuck had never seen so many soldiers. At Schweinfurt station, Mauser helped them into a large Mercedes and accompanied them to their hotel.

"You will please to remember," Mauser warned them. "For safety, you will not go out at night alone. We are at war, you know."

"You don't say," Chuck nodded.

"Ja, I am saying." Mauser clicked his heels. "Heil Hitler."

He climbed back into the Mercedes next to the driver and the car drove off leaving Chuck and Casey in front of their Hotel.

"Wow, this is so pretty," Chuck commented as they stood in front of the German Gasthof. His wide eyes were everywhere at once. "Ellie would so love to see this."

The first second and third floors all had wooden verandas running around them, which were lined with not only flowers of every colour, but with swastikas also. A large, ornately carved wooden heraldic lion hung from an extended pole high above the door. The Lion was painted a bright golden colour. Gold letters formed an arch above the door; 'Goldener Löwen.'

"Pay attention, moron," Casey grunted and headed to the doorway.

They pushed the door of the Gasthof open and stepped into the building. The room, a bar, was filled to capacity with the grey uniforms of wehrmacht soldiers. There were a few with uniforms of a more blue with yellow patches on their collars. These, Chuck learned later, were Luftwaffe pilots. As one, they fell silent and turned to look at the newcomers, their eyes filled with suspicion. Chuck could feel his mouth dry as he unconsciously edged closer to Casey. From a cluster of the gray uniforms, whose owners looked disappointed at losing her attention, a stunning blond, blue-eyed woman stepped toward them.

Chuck could not help staring at her. She was without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Perhaps in her early twenties, her long, golden hair was tied into two neat tails that draped her shoulders. She wore a white blouse under her tightly laced black dirndl, her red skirt stopping close to her knees. He felt positively ugly in her shadow. Her graceful movement made him feel even more clumsy than usual. His hands, in complete contrast to his mouth, were soaking wet. He knew on a subconscious level that he was 'gawking' at her, which bothered him, respectful as was of women, but he seemed little able to stop himself. He was smitten. With a grunt of disgust, Casey reached out and pushed Chuck's jaw back up.

Showing no signs of discomfort at their actions, and with a big, sweet smile on her face, the young woman greeted them. "Guten abend. Wilkommen aus Goldener Löwen. Ich heisse Zara."

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. It seems that Chuck is on his way, regardless.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Chuck', the TV Series or the characters. I don't own DC Comics or any of their characters, either.

**IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE:** Now that we're in Germany, anything written in italic text should be considered to be spoken in the German language.

**Chapter 4 – Chuck vs the HausFrau**

_Early May, 1940_

Schweinfurt, Germany

"Guten tag," the beautiful blonde goddess greeted them with a warm, bright and vibrant voice that entranced the already awestruck Chuck even further. "Wilkommen aus Goldener Lowen. Ich heisse Zara. Zara Ludika. Wie kann ich Ihnen hilfen?"

"Yeah, hi," Casey stepped forward after waiting for a moment, casting a disgusted look at his colleague. "My name is John Alexander and this... drooling moron is Charles Carmichael. I believe you have a couple of rooms for us."

"But you are English?" Zara frowned and gave a nervous glance over her shoulder. Her English was softly accented and even that sounded beautiful to Chuck.

Already the soldiers were looking a little more threatening. Some were already fingering their service pistols that hung in gleaming, polished leather holsters.

"No," Casey replied, loudly and matter of factly. "We're American. I believe our Embassy in Geneva has booked a couple of rooms for us?"

The room seems to lose the chill. After a few final glances, all but the really curious turned away to return to their drinks.

"Ach, so," Zara nodded. "Yes. I see. I ask the Gastwirt, ja?"

"You do that, Frauline."

"Papi!" Zara called above the din of the common room. "_Do you have two rooms for the Americans?_"

"_Of course!_" A short, rotund old man appeared through the throng. He had a huge moustache poking out either side of his fat, red cheeks. He wore a long, white apron, stained with his ales and spirits over a thick, patched pair of leather pants. He wobbled slightly as though he had been sampling from his own casks. "_The two front rooms on the second floor. You show these men to their rooms while I prepare their dinner for them. Do they want anything to drink?_"

"Papi says you have the two rooms on the second floor. I will show you. Papi will prepare the dinner for you. Would you like something to drink with your meal? Some beer, perhaps?"

"Do you have any whisky?" Casey asked, waiting for the woman to show them to their room.

-oOo-

After unpacking their cases, the two men went downstairs to find Zara waiting for them.

"I think it is better that you sit in here, ja?" Zara smiled as she ushered them into an empty alcove of the bar that served as a dining room. "The soldiers are getting a little... getrunken. I am frightened that perhaps they will think you are the enemy, ja?"

During dinner, Chuck took the opportunity to look around the dining room. That is, he looked around the room whenever Zara could not be seen and he could not look at her. There were ceiling murals – pictures of men hunting deer in dense forests with packs of dogs, paintings on the walls – men and women dressed in old fashioned, typically German clothing, wood carvings and ceramic Bier Steins depicting all of the above. Over the unlit fire place, surrounded by a floral adornment and the ever present Swastika, hung a portrait of Adolph Hitler. To one side was another, smaller portrait of a young soldier. This, too had been adorned with a floral tribute and two small flags; the German flag of red, gold and black stripes and the Swastika.

Their meal was momentarily interrupted by a large, rotund and ruddy cheeked elderly civilian. His own moustache was giving the landlord's a run for being the most bushy.

"I have nephew," he slapped his chest proudly as he spoke each word carefully and slowly. "In Chi-ka-go. Helmut Getzler. You know of him, nein?"

"Nein," Chuck shook his head, looking to Casey in case he might know Helmut. The big man was rolling his eyes. "You know, America is a pretty big place."

"Ja, ja," the old man nodded. "Big. Big."

He held his hands apart, as though he was describing the fish that got away.

"Morons," Casey growled with a shake of his head.

After the old man came the soldiers, wanting to know if America would join the war. As they had agreed, Chuck let Casey do the talking with any of the military. While Casey was explaining how America was keeping out and would let Europe sort their own problems out, Chuck was openly watching Zara as she served people their drinks in the main bar. She was very popular, especially among the junior officers. They flirted like crazy around her and although she flirted back, she seemed to have a definite line that she would not allow to be crossed. One or two of the soldiers had red palm prints on their cheeks to prove this. She did, however, seem to enjoy their attention.

Comparing himself to these soldiers, Chuck could not help thinking of Jill and how she had been attracted to Bryce, a man of more manly virtues.

"Look all you want," Chuck, he grumbled to himself. "What chance have you got against any of these guys?"

Just then, a rather drunken soldier tried to grab her. Zara snatched his hand and twisted him around, pushing him to the floor and making him cry out in pain. She made a comment and everyone laughed at the unfortunate man who now appeared suitably humiliated. Chuck wished that he could speak German, just so that he could understand what she was saying.

"Can I get you something else?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached them.

"Do you get that a lot?" Chuck nodded toward the man who had tried to accost her.

"All of the time. Ja," she nodded. "But they are just..." She struggled to find the right words.

"Letting of steam?" Chuck raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes," she nodded with a smile. "Sometimes it... annoys me but what is it I can do?"

"Zara," Chuck dipped his head. "I want to apologise. For the way I've been... around you. I'm so sorry that I kept staring at you like that. My sister, she raised me to be more respectful than that. If she had seen me, she would have slapped me so hard... I'm so sorry."

"Macht nichts," she shrugged with a soft smile. "You are... was ist vergeben? Forgiven! Yes, you are forgiven."

Chuck gave her a big smile.

"Besides," she grinned. "I find it... suss... Sweet."

"Sweet," Chuck rolled his eyes. "Great."

Zara gave a soft peel of laughter.

"Who is the man in the picture?" Chuck nodded at the young man in the shrine.

"Ah," Zara smiled, reaching out to touch the photograph. "That is Ernst. Mein verlobt. My... husband?"

"You're married?" Chuck wondered why he was surprised. She was so beautiful, why wouldn't someone have snapped her up? And why not a handsome, young soldier?

"Ja. Why?" There was almost a challenge in her eyes. "Do you think it not possible?"

"No, I... I mean, yeah! Yes!" Chuck felt his face burning. "Of course it's possible. I mean you're so... look at you! It's just... you're married and still all those guys treat you like..."

"They are soldiers," she shrugged. "They all do that, but I am not... worried. Papi, behind the bar, he is the father of Ernst, ja? And he has a big stick."

"It's still not right," Chuck complained with a shake of his head.

-oOo-

Chuck woke up feeling refreshed. The last few weeks spent on trains and boats and planes, even though they had sleeping compartments, had been a nightmare. The constant drone of an engine had kept him awake. Even the few nights spent at the embassy had been tense, knowing what was to come. But here, in this Gasthof, he just seemed to be able to relax. Of course, dreaming about the blonde, blue eyed goddess had helped.

After washing and shaving, he got dressed and went downstairs to see about breakfast. He thought about knocking on Casey's door, but the Marine had a tendency to rise really early, anyway. He was probably already taking a walk, 'reconnoitring' as he called it.

The bar area was deserted so Chuck sat down in the dining alcove, hoping someone – Zara – would soon come to serve him. He heard something from the small room next door; a soft and femenine exclamation that sounded like 'dammit'. Rising, he peered through the door to see a small living room. On a wooden table, an old, large radio was in pieces and Zara, as lovely as ever, was sitting in front of it with a perplexed look.

"Problems?" he asked after lightly tapping on the door.

"Ah, Herr Carmichael, Guten Morgen," she smiled at him as she stood up. "You have sleeped good?"

"Please. Call me Chuck," he nodded. "And yes, I slept fantastic, thank you. Did you?"

"I am missing my Ernst," she nodded sadly, "but yes. I sleeped well."

"Where is Ernst?" Chuck asked. "Is he in France?"

"I know that America is not in the war," she bit angrily, "but I am not thinking that I am supposed to tell you this."

"Oh," Chuck blushed with a look of distress. "I'm so sorry. Now I've made you angry. I didn't mean to do that."

"No, it is not your fault," she shook her head. "I am sorry too. You are just trying to be freudlich, ja? Friendly."

"Is there a problem with your radio?"

"Always," she nodded. "And today, I am not able to hear what is happening in... where my Ernst is."

"Would you like me to take a look? Perhaps I can fix it?"

"You can do this?" she seemed impressed.

"Please," he smiled as he pulled a small, insulated screwdriver from his breast pocket. "I've been making my own radio sets since I could hold one of these. I've built a couple of transmitters, too."

"Of course," she moved back and indicated the radio with her open hand. "You cannot do the worse than I am. You look and see what is it you can find and I will bring for you your frühstück."

She moved out of the way and Chuck took her place. His fingers followed the wires, twisted the coils and fiddled with the valves as they danced across a battlefield that knew all about.

"Here's your problem," Chuck held up a large bulb when Zara returned with his breakfast. "This valve is blown. You need a new one."

"I am not finding a new valve here in the Gasthof," Zara told him after she had spent an hour searching. "I go to the... store to buy a new one. You wish to come for walk, ja?"

"Ja," Chuck nodded eagerly. "I'd like that."

"Good," she smiled. "I show to you our beautiful city."

-oOo-

Schweinfurt was as Zara had said, a beautiful city. Broad avenues were lined with tress and surrounded by tall buildings, most of them four or five stories high. These buildings all had delightfully Germanic pitched roofs with windows poking through from their attics. Every window and every balcony held a window box filled with bright coloured flowers. At ground level, the roads were also lined with baskets of flowers. The lamp posts had baskets of flowers hung around them. Even the street signs held flowers in one form or another. And what surprised Chuck the most was that the people – at least the civilians – all tipped their hats at the couple with a cheerful 'guten morgen'. It was hard to imagine that such a friendly country could ever consider going to war. It was only the number of uniformed soldiers, the military vehicles and the ever present swastikas that gave any hint of the country's darker side.

"Where is it in America you are from?" Zara asked as they walked slowly to the electrical store at the far end of the main street.

"I was born in Poughkeepsie, New York," he told her from the background story he had rehearsed relentlessly with Casey during the ocean crossing. Chuck could not help cringing inside. Lying to this lovely woman seemed almost as bad as lying to Ellie. "After I graduated from college, I went to work for General Motors in Connecticut. I'm not much of an athlete. I guess I'm what most people call a nerd."

"A nerd?" Zara frowned. "What is a nerd?"

"Someone who reads comic books," Chuck shrugged. "Can fix radio sets, is good with diagrams and figures... mechanical things, electrical things. A nerd isn't considered good looking and certainly isn't athletic. And he doesn't generally get the girls. Especially great looking girls..." He blushed. "Like you."

"You think I am great looking?" she teased him with a smile.

"Are you kidding?" Chuck gawped. "You... you're beautiful."

"As beautiful as your American girls?" Zara peered at him through her fluttering eyelashes.

"More," Chuck nodded. "I mean, you're so beautiful, I wonder what the heck you're doing being seen in public with me."

"And do you have a girl who is waiting for you at home?" Zara looked down at the ground.

"I did," Chuck nodded. He remembered Ellie's words of advice. "But you know what? That's over now. She decided she preferred someone who was not a nerd."

"I like you, Chuck," laughing, she looped her arm into his, an action so eerily similar to Ellie's. "And I am not understanding why the American girls are not seeing you for what you are."

"Most girls like the brave, manly hero types," Chuck indicated a small group of girls flirting with a couple of soldiers. "Like your Ernst."

"Here is the store," Zara indicated the window filled with radio sets.

-oOo-

They were silent on the way back, with Zara holding Chuck's arm while he clutched her radio valve.

"What does that say?" Chuck nodded at the stone carved sign above the large wooden doors of a swastika bedecked building with a tall spire. "Does that really mean a house of rats?"

"Rathaus?" Zara laughed. "No. That is where our... mayor and the city officials work."

"Ah, City hall," Chuck grinned. "I was right the first time."

"You are funny, Chuck," Zara smiled at him. "Me? I am not so."

"So that's your secret, huh?" Chuck smirked. "I kind of wondered if you had one and what it might be."

"Me? Secrets?" Zara's laugh was like a bell on a dark night. "I have no secrets. Except for where my Ernst is."

"Touché," Chuck shrugged. "What about that place?"

"Ah!" she looked to where he was pointing. "That is our... tanzhalle, our dancing hall. Do nerds dance, Chuck?"

"Not very well," Chuck shook his head. "It's the lack of coordination, you see. I bet you are a really good dancer."

"I do not go there so much," Zara shook her head.

"Don't you like to dance?"

"Of course," she nodded with her eyes lighting up. "I am loving the dancing. I am very good."

"Why don't you go?"

"Because the soldiers will think that I am there for them and..." Zara frowned. "It is not wise to go alone and I cannot accept to go with a soldier who would try to make free with his hands... and other parts."

"You know," Chuck started to blush. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. "If you want, I could take you. You know, as a friend. ' Cause I would never... My sister would kill me if I ever tried..."

"That is kind of you" Zara gave a sweet smile, "but you are not having to do that."

"I know," Chuck exclaimed. "But I want to. Please, it will be my pleasure, perhaps tomorrow night?"

"We cannot," Zara shook her head.

"Of course," Chuck stared at his feet in humiliation. "Why would you want to go to a dance with me, right?"

"I would enjoy very much to go to a dance with you!" she beamed at him, making Chuck's knees turn to jelly. "But there are no dances tomorrow."

"Oh, well," Chuck shrugged, figuring that was that.

"Better we go tonight instead," Zara grinned.

-oOo-

"So what is it that two Americans are doing in the middle of Germany at wartime?" she peered over Chuck's shoulder as he replaced the valve into the radio set.

"The company I work for," he went with the script, "sent me here to talk to the ball bearing factories to make sure they'll continue to supply us with ball bearings. Otherwise, we would have to close down the factories and all those men would be out of work."

"And your friend, John?" her breath tickled his ear. Chuck wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. "He is not a nerd, I think."

"Oh, no," Chuck twisted his head to look at her. Conscious of how close her lips were to his, he looked away again. "John's the complete opposite of a nerd. He used to be in the army, but he's retired now. General Motors hired him as a bodyguard. I mean, I can't imagine France or England would appreciate U.S. dollars helping to fund Germany's war efforts. He's here to keep me safe. And there. Good as new!"

Chuck replaced the cover to the radio set and turned to face front again.

Zara reached over and turned the set on. At once, polka music filled the room. Chuck pulled a face.

"You are not liking our music?" Zara asked.

"It don't mean a thing," Chuck grinned. "If it ain't got that swing. Oh, but I guess you're not allowed to listen to music like that. Swing, Jazz... that sort of thing."

"We can if we want to," Zara gave him a look of defiance. "We choose not to."

"Now I've upset you again," Chuck's face fell. "I'm so sorry."

"No, the fault is mine," she placed a hand on his and looked into his eyes.

Chuck wondered if she could see how he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

-oOo-

"She could be a honey trap, you know," Casey told Chuck as he watched the tall nerd making a mess of tying his neck tie.

"No she's not," Chuck stated with clear defiance as he shook his head. "Uhm... What's a honey trap?"

"She's sucking up to you because she's been told to. To get close to you, make you like her. Use any means possible to get to you. She's seducing you into making you tell her the real reason why you're here."

"You're wrong, Casey," Chuck returned to looking at his reflection in the mirror. "She's just naturally a nice person."

"Right," the Marine snorted. "And you think a beautiful married woman like her is getting all friendly with you because what? You're such a catch?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe she just likes me because I'm a nice guy?" Chuck demanded.

"Uh huh," Casey grunted. "And one day, we'll elect that actor, Ronald Reagan for our President."

Chuck fiddled with his tie while he considered Casey's words and the way Zara treated him.

"I'll be careful, Casey," he nodded at his bodyguard. "Now how do I look?"

"Like an ugly nerd trying to make himself look like a Prince Charming," Casey grunted. "It only works in fairytales."

-oOo-

"You are enjoying yourself, ja?" Zara asked as she adjusted his tie.

"Ja," Chuck agreed with a nod of his head.

It was all he could force himself to say. Zara was dressed in a gorgeous red dress which clung to her exquisite figure like a second skin. She wore black seamed stockings and black high heeled shoes. Her hair, normally pulled into twin tails loosely cascaded around her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Every time she swung her hips, or she twirled, which was often, Chuck caught a glimpse of her stocking tops, further adding to his difficulties. She was absolutely stunning . He had tried to tell her so, but his tongue betrayed him and refused to move. Chuck could barely think coherently, let alone speak.

The band was dressed in what Chuck recognised as Bavarian in style only because there was a 'Beer Kellar' in Los Angeles and all the waiters had to dress in this way. The music they played was closely recognisable as tunes that Chuck had been used to hearing as played by Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald. They were played here, however, with a traditional polka twist. Swing without swing, jazz without colour.* Still, it wasn't that bad and he could at least look like he was dancing with Zara. But not being much of a dancer himself, he hobbled around the floor while Zara moved as though she owned the room. To be fair to her, Zara did her best to show that he was with her and to make him look... normal.

"Do you think America will join the war?" Zara asked him when the music slowed down to a waltz.

"Excuse me?" Chuck blinked.

With Zara's arms around his neck, and his own hands holding her warm and soft body at a respectable distance, he found it even more difficult to think.

"The war," she smiled at him. "Do you think America will fight with the Allies?"

"I hope not," Chuck sighed as he shook his head, his eyes glued to hers.

"You are liking our new Germany?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I like Germany well enough," Chuck nodded. "At least, what I've seen of it. And I like the people. Most of them. It's just... I'm not very fond of some of the ideals in Herr Hitler's book. But I really hope we don't go to war."

"And why is that?"

Chuck looked down at his feet for a moment before looking back up and into Zara's lovely blue eyes.

"I don't ever want to think of you as my enemy, Zara," Chuck frowned. "I just couldn't bear the thought that you would hate me, because I'm on the other side."

Chuck would forever swear that tears had formed in Zara's eyes. But perhaps it was his own the tears simply making it look so.

"_What's going on here?_" a group of annoyed soldiers surrounded the couple. "_Why are you dancing with an American but not with German heroes?_"

"_When I see a German hero, then perhaps I'll dance with him,_" she snapped back. Leabing forward with her fists on her hips, her whole body language screamed her annoyance. "_But all the heroes are with their units, fighting for the Fatherland. Not staying behind to steal other men's wives._"

The looks that they threw at Chuck as they stormed away did not make him feel any easier.

"What was that about?" Chuck asked.

"Because I will dance with you and not with them," she shrugged. "I accuse them of trying to steal German hero's women."

"Well," Chuck shrugged. "It's not like they could try anything here, is it? Why won't you dance with them but you will dance with me?"

"I have told you," she smiled, stepping closer to him. "I like you, Chuck."

"Don't freak out," he told his terrified self.

-oOo-

* **A/N** - Joseph Goebbels assembled musicians from Germany (and conquered countries) into a big band called 'Charlie and His Orchestra' to perform Nazified versions of popular jazz and swing hits – complete with propaganda speeches.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note – Now that we're in Germany, any italic text should be considered to be German language.

**Chapter 5: Chuck vs the Valkyrie**

_May, 1940_

Schweinfurt, Germany

"Morning, Ca... John," Chuck yawned as he stepped into the bar the morning after his dance 'date' with Zara.

Not that it had been a real date. Not with Zara being married and Chuck being far too respectful of other people's relationships to even consider dating another guy's woman, let alone a married one. And not with Zara being so hot, and him... not so much.

"Morning," Casey grunted by way of return. Of course, Casey didn't actually say the word, rather, it was how Chuck had translated it. "Surprised to see you, actually. Thought you'd still be giving the Hausefrau a polka."

The big man snickered at his own joke; it was a strange sound.

"Really?" Chuck shook his head. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Hey," the Marine shrugged. "Tell her a few secrets and she'll definitely..."

"You know what?" Chuck interrupted. "Don't even go there. Besides, what would make you even think such a thing?"

"Saw you when you got in last night," Casey smirked. "You looked like you were in some kind of trance and you had a dopey look on your face. More dopey than normal, I mean. Look, I'm still not one hundred percent certain what it is you are going to do here but whatever it is, you'd better not let your lady feelings get in the way."

"They won't," Chuck gave a sigh of resignation. "Anyway, what have you been up to, lately? Haven't seen much of you around."

"While you've been playing house with the Frau, I've been working."

"Working, how?"

"I've been doing some real spy work," Casey leaned closer to Chuck and dropped his voice still lower. "I've explored the town and know it as well as you know Burbank. I've walked the perimeter and have catalogued all the defence installations. I've made notes about the local army barracks, how many men it holds, the units and weapons designations. There's also a tank regiment stationed here. I can't get close to it but there's an air base up the road. I've spotted a number of Junkers Ju 87's, that's a Stuka to you, making practice dives. This might prove useful in the days ahead."

"Wait," Chuck frowned. "You said you've made notes? What if Mauser searches your room and finds them?"

"Unlike you," Casey gave Chuck a look of superiority, "I'm not an amateur."

"So you've had a full schedule, huh?"

"That's not all," Casey gave one of those 'beat this' grins. "I've also bought us some warmer clothes, some hiking boots and a couple of knapsacks."

"Please tell me you didn't buy us a pair of those leather shorts with the suspenders," Chuck's eyes narrowed.

"No," Casey grinned. "Not for me, anyway."

"What's all that for?"

"Heard on the German radio last night, Holland surrendered. Time is of the essence now, Carmichael. Once we get... what we came to get, we might need to run."

-oOo-

For a big man, John Casey could move with astonishing silence. Even a wooden staircase built hundreds of years ago gave no creaks to advertise his approach. So it was that as he returned from one of his many walks, he had spotted the Gestapo agent, Herr Mauser approach the moron's girlfriend and motion her to a quieter part of the bar. Intrigued, Casey did something that Casey was good at. He spied on them.

"_We have delayed their visit,"_ Mauser spoke in his perfect, native German. "_We will tell them that the factory is having special safety measure applied to the buildings, in case of air raids. Not that the English would be so foolish as to fly into Germany. The Luftwaffe would simply shoot them out of the sky. But the Americans do not need to know that._"

"_So why are you telling me this?_" Zara inquired.

"_Where is the old man?_" Mauser peered around the room.

"_Where he always is_," Zara shrugged. "_Still in bed sleeping off the schnapps he put away last night. It is no wonder he makes no money. He is always drunk."_

"_And we are alone?_" he demanded.

"_Do you see anyone else?_" she gestured around the room.

"_Where are the Americans?_"

"_The Americans are upstairs, but yes, we are alone. Are you actually going to come to the point anytime soon?_"

"_One cannot be too careful_," Mauser gave a slight nod of his head. "_And the Fatherland has need of your help._"

"_And just how is it I can help the Fatherland?_" the blonde barmaid turned away slightly, her body language clearly expecting some kind of sexual advance.

"_We believe that the Americans are not who they say they are_," he explained. "_We believe that they are spies. That they are here to steal secrets from our ball bearing factories._"

"_What?_" Zara started to laugh. "_Herr Alexander, I can understand. But Herr Carmichael? Why would you think such a thing?_"

"_We cannot prove it, yet and Berlin says we cannot risk damaging relations with America because we need their dollars. And so we have to behave like we believe they are who they say they are. They will go to the factory tomorrow. Today, they are removing all of the secret files, just in case._"

"_And where is it I come in?_" Zara asked. "_What is it you wish me to do for the Fatherland?"_

"_We want you to accompany them on their visit. Stay close to Herr Carmichael. Watch him and report any suspicious activities._" Mauser fell silent for a moment before continuing. "_Also, he seems to like you. Get close to him. Use any means at your disposal but make him tell you what he's doing. Find out how it is he plans to steal our secrets._"

"_What are you suggesting?_" the girl gasped.

"_Do I really need to spell it out?"_

"_Yes_," Zara nodded. "_I think you do_."

"_We need to know who he is working for. We need to know who he really is and how he plans to steal our secrets. I want you to seduce him, Frau Ludika. Tonight. Take him to your bed and use his infatuation with you to get the information we want._"

"_I would never do that to my verliebt!_" she exclaimed.

Mauser grew angry.

"_Your verliebt is doing his duty for the Fatherland. I suggest that you do the same. He will understand. The question is. Do you?_"

"_I understand_," the blonde gave a despondent nod.

"_Heil Hitler,_" the Gestapo agent brought his arm up sharply and clicked his heels.

He marched out of the bar.

Pondering this turn of events, Casey narrowed his eyes. The young Frau did not appear to be as angry or upset at the request to seduce the moron and try to break him as she had tried to make out. There was a steely glint in her eye, a kind of determination suggesting to Casey that this young Frau was not a novice in the spy world, herself. He almost shuddered for the poor boy. Almost. When the women turned away and headed for the stone steps that lead down to the cellar, Casey decided that it was time that 'Frau Ludika' disappeared. Silent as ever, he started to follow her, hoping to catch an opportunity to make it look a complete accident. Stone steps could be so dangerous.

-oOo-

Chuck had just finished his morning wash and shave. He finished dressing and pulled on his shoes. After a final stretch and yawn, he made his way down the stairs to the public rooms below. He tried to tell himself that he was not eager to see Zara again. He had the most amazing dreams of her last night. Some of them were dreams that he would never confess to, especially as she was married and all, but still. He was only human, after all.

Chuck was surprised to find that there was no one in the bar. There wasn't even a table made up for him to sit at. With a frown, he looked around.

"Zara?" he called. "Hello?"

Behind the bar, he saw that the cellar door was open. From the cellar below, he heard something, like the scraping of a chair. Glancing around, Chuck stepped behind the bar and approached the door.

"Zara?" he called, giving the door a knock. "Are you down there?"

There was that noise again, a kind of scraping. Like a heavy chair or table. He started to descend into the cellar. As he reached the floor and stepped around the corner, Chuck could barely take in what he was looking at. Wearing just his undershirt and his boxer shorts, Casey was securely tied to a stout chair, his arms behind him, his ankles tied to the chair's legs. His mouth was heavily gagged although Chuck could still hear him grunting at him as his bright red face seemed to be nodding at him, as though he was trying to convey some kind of warning. Like, perhaps someone was behind him?

When that someone grabbed him and quickly threw him to the floor, Chuck actually screamed like a girl. He tried to get up but his assailant was too quick for him. A heavy wooden chair was quickly placed over his chest, the legs and the wooden support struts effectively trapping his arms to his side. His attacker sat on the chair, the wrong way around and peered over the top, looking down on him. Her long blonde hair rained down like a curtain.

"Zara?" Chuck gasped, recognising her as his assailant. He started to frown. "Zara? Why did you just attack me? And did you tie up my friend?"

"Who are you?" Zara demanded in a harsh, angry voice.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Casey shaking his head at him. His eyes bulged with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Chuck looked back up to Zara, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Why are you..." he blinked.

Zara reached down a pressed her hand over Chuck's mouth, silencing him.

"Shut up and listen," she shook her head. All traces of the German accent had vanished. "I'm the one asking the questions, okay? You are the one answering them. Nod if you understand."

She removed her hand when Chuck nodded.

"Wait a second!" he demanded. "What happened to your accent? Are you an American? What are you..."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" she grabbed his jaw again. "Do. You. Understand?"

"Okay, okay," Chuck spoke. "I'll answer your questions. But can you let me up, first? It's kind of uncomfortable down here. And do you even have any idea how cold this floor..."

"Shut up!" Zara snapped, covering his mouth again. "Now who are you?"

"You know who I am, Zara," he replied when she removed her hand. "I'm Charles Carmi..."

She slapped him across his face.

"Ow!" he tried to massage his face by flexing his jaw. "Zara! What did you do that for?"

"Stop lying to me, okay?" she growled. "Now who are you, really?"

"You know what Zara?" Chuck looked deeply hurt. And not just physically, or mentally. "You're making it very hard for me to keep on liking you. And I don't think I'm going to talk to you anymore, with... Zara?"

His eyes widened as Zara held a knife to his throat.

"Now tell me who you are or I'll cut you from here, to here," she dragged the knife blade along his body from his neck to a point near his groin, the farthest she could reach because of the chair.

Chuck could see Casey shaking his head and knew that he was warning him not to talk, which was easy for Casey to say when the knife was threatening Chuck's privates and not the Major's.

"No," Chuck swallowed and shook his head. "No you won't, Zara. I know you won't because whatever else you are, I know that you are basically a nice person and I refuse to believe that you liking me was in anyway fake. So... so I'm gonna take my chances and trust that you're just trying to scare me, which is really working, just so you know, and that you won't really hurt me."

There was a momentary look of disbelief in Zara's eyes, followed by one of defeat. Reaching out from the seat, she pulled a heavy sack of potatoes from the floor and lifted it to the chair. She stood up, still leaving Chuck pinned.

"Okay, Chuck," she gave an evil grin. "Maybe I can't hurt you. But Mr. Alexander here..." She pushed the blade against Casey's groin. "Him, I could gut like a fish and not break a sweat."

Casey's eyes widened but he still shook his head at Chuck with an angry grunt.

"Just so you know, Zara?" Chuck started to babble. "I'm freaking out here, okay? I mean, big time, really. But guess what? I trust you. Okay? So I'm going to go with that and tell you, not because I'm scared you're going to hurt one of us, because I really, really am scared. But I'll tell you because I like you and I trust you. My name is Charles," Casey was making a lot of noise with his grunts. Chuck was sure that they sounded like 'I'm going to kill you when I get loose'.

"No, really. It is," he nodded his confirmation at Zara's unbelieving face. "It's Charles. Charles Bartowski."

"And what are you doing here, Charles Bartowski?"

"Uh, Zara?" he looked up at her, his face less fear full of her. "You can still call me Chuck, you know. It really is my name."

"Okay, Chuck," Zara's face remained a mask. "What are you doing here? Are you planning to break into the ball bearing factory and steal the secrets?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, really," he saw her doubting look. "Look at me Zara. Do I even look like a spy? Let me rephrase that. Can you really believe that I'm a spy? Not that I doubt you have some badass, butt kicking Batman skills there, especially to get the drop on... John. But look how easy you took me down. And how easy I spilled my guts. I'm no spy, Zara."

"Then why are you here?" her face was a little softer.

"Exactly what we have told everyone. We're going to visit the factory, do the tour and then talk to the guys to make sure we can still do business even though Germany is at war."

Casey was a seething volcano of anger.

"So why the fake names?"

"Because of the war, Zara," Chuck tried to shrug. "They thought it would be safest for me if something went wrong."

Zara walked around Chuck, looking down at him. Her hand held the knife, the blade between her fingers while she bounced the handle against her lips as she considered Chuck's confession. She stopped at his head and leaned right down, almost in his face.

"Where is Bryce Larkin?"

"Wha... Who?" Chuck blinked.

With a flick of her wrist, the dagger she was holding sailed through the air and bit into Casey's chair. It was a hair's width from his family jewels. There was a bead of sweat on Casey's forehead as he stared with bulging eyes at the knife in horror.

"Wha...? Wha...?" Chuck gasped in awe as he too stared at the knife. "How did you do that? That was amazing! Sorry, big guy, but it was."

"Focus, Chuck," Zara cinched his chin and pulled his head to face her. "Where is Bryce Larkin?"

"He's dead, Zara," Chuck answered in a subdued voice.

"What?" Zara stood up, the shock clearly evident on her face.

"How did you know Bryce?" Chuck asked.

"No!" Zara yelled. "No! I don't believe you. You're lying."

"No. No I'm not," he shook his head. "I could never lie to you Zara. He died in a car accident. A few months ago. He was on his way here but he was killed in this freak accident..."

"And they sent you?"

"And they sent me. Uhm... How did you know Bryce?"

"He's dead?" she asked again, looking a little devastated. She glanced over at Casey who nodded his head. "No," she shook her head. "This could be a trick. Prove that you knew Bryce."

"Uh..." Chuck's eyes narrowed in dismay. "How can I prove I knew someone? Uhm... I went to Stanford with him. We were roomies, we...

"Wait, wait," Zara interrupted. "You roomed with Bryce at Stanford?"

Zara's eyes lit up again. Chuck preferred Zara when her eyes were bright like that.

"You're Chuck! Chuck Bartowski!"

"I thought we had already established that."

"Sorry," Zara shook her head and smiled. Chuck liked it when she smiled, too. "When we were in Spain, Bryce told me all these stories from his days at Stanford. An awful lot of them were with you."

"You knew Bryce?" Chuck was confused. "In Spain? What... How... Uh? Zara?"

"We worked together," Zara told him as she lifted the bag of potatoes from the chair. "We were both working freelance for SIS. British Intelligence. I still am, kind of. We were going to meet up here and Bryce was going to steal the plans to make ball bearings. He was supposed to be here months ago. I've been getting a little worried. And impatient. Who knows when good ol' Ernst will return."

Zara helped Chuck to his feet.

"You mean, you actually got married to a German just so you could stay here?"

"It was a good cover," she shrugged.

While Chuck could only gape in horror, Casey gave an impressed nod of approval.

"I managed to persuade lucky Ernst Ludika to marry me while he was blind drunk, not ten minutes before his unit was due to ship out for Poland. The priest was a passing old drunk who performed a fake ceremony for a bottle of schnapps and it's certainly not consummated. And I definitely did not use my real name."

As she told her story, Zara helped Chuck to his feet.

"Lucky for me, his unit was then posted to the west. It's been a perfect cover. Ernst would not be around to get in my way and I have an excuse to be in Schweinfurt. Plus, my marital status gave me an excuse to keep these pigs at arm's length. His posting was luckier for him because I didn't want to have to kill him. Too much mess to hide."

"So, Zara isn't your real name?" he asked a little self consciously. "I've kind of grown used to it."

"Until we get you out of Germany," Zara nodded, "you can keep calling me that."

Casey started to grunt again, attracting their attention. He was looking less than impressed at being left tied up in the chair with a very sharp knife embedded too close to his body for comfort.

"Oh, yeah," Zara rolled her eyes. "Sorry about that. Uh, what's his real name?"

"Casey," Chuck told her as she worked his bonds free. "John Casey."

"I've heard of him," she gave Casey a nod of respect. "What's his story?"

"He really is my bodyguard, Zara," Chuck smiled at her. "He has to keep me alive so I can get home with the plans."

"I thought you said you weren't a spy."

"That's right. I'm not. But I'm still going to take the plans home with us."

"And how are you going to do that if you're not trained as a spy?" Zara frowned. "How are you going to obtain the plans if you are not planning on breaking in anywhere and stealing anything?"

"Simple," he smiled, pointing to his head, "By using something I 'am' good with."

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

**Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it.**

**Happy Holidays to those who don't.**

Thank you so much for the reviews, I'm happy to know that my story is being enjoyed. Your kind words keep me going. But I know that you would much reather read the next chapter rather tham me b;lathering on ;) so...

**Chapter 6 – Chuck vs the Metal Balls**

_May, 1940_

Schweinfurt, Germany

Chuck's older sister, Ellie, had always been a very good looking, confident young woman. After their parents had abandoned them, Ellie had taken on the task of being not only Chuck's big sister, but his mom, too. Coupled with this was the fact that Ellie also put herself through medical school to become a doctor. In a male oriented world, she had not had it easy. Chuck had come to recognise the signs that something had upset his sister. She did not cry. Ellie was too strong for that but she was not impervious to the malicious digs and asinine remarks made by her fellow students and professors alike. Only Devon - or as Chuck called him, Captain Awesome, because quite simply, he was – had time for her. The two had become friends first, and then lovers.

Until Devon had come along, however, Chuck had grown to spot the tell tale signs that things were getting to Ellie and did everything in his power to make her feel better. It was only natural, therefore, that when Chuck came down for breakfast the next day, he easily spotted that something was not one hundred percent right with Zara.

"Hey," he gave her a sympathetic smile while placing his hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine," Zara waved him away, her German accent back in place.

"No," Chuck shook his head. "No you're not. You get just like my sister when she's upset about something but thinks she's not allowed to show it. You have all the signs of someone who had little sleep last night. What's the matter?"

"Nichts," Zara shook her head. "I am fine."

Chuck knew this to be a lie. Zara had been out of sorts ever since she had interrogated him and Casey yesterday morning. Ever since he had told her that...

"You had a thing with Bryce?" Chuck exclaimed with a sudden insight, his eyes wide with shock.

"Shhhh!" Zara warned, looking around the room in shock. Papi, the old Kellarmeister was working on beer barrel behind the bar. "Not so loud. Are you trying to blow my cover?"

It was not an answer but it told Chuck everything. Zara and Bryce had been an item. She had been with Bryce Larkin. Chuck's whole body went cold.

"Are you ready for your frűhstűck?" she asked again.

"Uhm, you know what?" Chuck started to back out of the room. His face was crestfallen and his heart felt so much heavier. Both pieces of it. "I'm not really very hungry."

-oOo-

It was irony at its' best. The Gestapo agent, Herr Mauser, had wanted Zara to accompany the Americans so that she could, in effect, spy on them for him. He wanted her to find out just what their plans were, how it was that these Americans were going to steal the plans to their ball bearing factory. Zara, however was already spying on the Germans for British Intelligence and had been waiting for Bryce Larkin so that she could help him with his attempt to steal the very secrets she was now apparently supposed to help protect. And there was another factor that Herr Mauser had not taken in to consideration.

The three members of the Management Committee who were to be Chuck's guides were both surprised and delighted to see Zara with the Americans. They had fallen under her spell without her even having to cast it.

"Frau Ludika," they all clicked their heels and one by one, kissed the back of her hand. "It is so wonderful to see you here at our factory."

Zara was a very beautiful young woman and dressed to the nines as she was, few could look at her and not be impressed. Even though the much older men knew that she was married to a German soldier, this did not stop them from competing with one another to attract her attention. Every question that Chuck asked, the three fought with one another, trying to give him as detailed an answer as possible, often correcting or contradicting one another. Additional details were voluntarily offered as a means to impress her. And with each answer, they gave Zara a huge smile. And also with each answer, Zara gave them a huge smile in return. Sometimes she even flirted with them a little. Information was spilling out like Niagara Falls.

Although he tried hard not to let her flirting with the men affect him – after all, she had been Bryce's girlfriend and had only shown any kindness towards him as a means of finding out where Bryce was, so why should her actions towards anyone else bother him? It nevertheless bothered Chuck that Zara would so demean herself like that. In spite of the fact that he was supposed to be angry with her, he could not help scowling at the three old men. He would certainly not admit it, even to himself, but Chuck was jealous.

Zara played her role to perfection. She seemed both entranced and impressed with what the men had to say, laughing and touching the men frequently, encouraging them to make complete and utter fools of themselves in their efforts to gain some advantage over the others. For his part, Chuck paid attention to the details and listened to what the men said, asking questions that, had Zara not been with them, the men would have been less enthusiastic to answer. He took mental notes of every machine, every conveyor belt, every lever, pulley and switch, every step of the process and filed it away for later consideration.

"Of course," one nodded. "The metal wire is fed into this machine here, ja? And is cut, like so," he mimicked scissors with his fingers. "Cut like so and the little piece it drops into the box underneath."

"How does the machine know how long to cut the pieces?" Chuck asked as he carefully studied every dial, button, switch and lever associated with the machine.

"It is depending on the thickness of the metal, and the diameter of the ball bearing." the other continued. "The thicker the metal, the longer the piece. We have a chart there on the side, look." He smiled proudly at Zara. "This was my idea, nein?"

"Ah, yes," Chuck's head bobbed animatedly as he studied the chart.

"Then, the pieces are dropped the right way onto the... how you say, belt?" the third manager added. "They are all lined up, lengthways, okay? And they are fed into this machine here."

Chuck watched the pieces running along the conveyor belt, all aligned as the man had said, top to tail. The box that they fell from was shaking. Clearly, a correctly sized hole ensured they dropped from the box the right way.

"In this machine, the ends of the wires are hit." He banged one fist against another. "Bang!" he exclaimed. "Bang. One end and then the other. This is squashing, yes? Squashing the two ends to making a little ball with a... disk. Like the planet, Saturn."

And so it went on. With each man competing for Zara's attention, they explained how each machine worked, how the disks were ground off, how the balls were constantly vibrated against one another as they polished each other and then were forced to roll along a small groove which allowed any non perfect ball to fall off the line and into a waste bin, to be recycled and reused.

Under the Gestapo's orders, neither Chuck nor Casey were allowed to make notes or take any pictures. Neither were they allowed to take away any papers or documents that they might be shown as part of their tour. Under such restrictions, the Germans could not see how the Americans could possibly remember any the details that they had been bombarded with. Details that had taken them years to discover. There was no way on earth that the Americans were taking those secrets away with them, unless they came back later and tried to steal them.

The discussion came after the guided tour where each side assured the other that in spite of America's known friendship with the British, the Americans would still purchase the bearings for their automobile industry while the Germans would still supply them. They said their goodbyes, with the German gentlemen urging Zara to visit with them again, soon, and issuing her with invitations to dine with each of them. Chuck gave a final scowl to each of them for that and then returned to the Gasthof with Zara and Casey.

"So," Zara gave the two Americans a smile when they stepped into the Gasthof. "You would like your dinner now, ja?"

"You know what?" Chuck pressed the palm of his hand to the side of his head. "I have a headache from all of that. I think I'll just go up to my room."

"Would you like me to bring something up?" Zara's voice sounded concerned and hopeful.

"No thanks," he waved a hand as he climbed the stairs.

"Well," she frowned. "I must go and help Papi in the bar."

"Lady feelings," Casey gave an amused grunt and followed Chuck upstairs.

"Well?" Casey came into Chuck's room.

"Well, what?" Chuck asked from the prone position he was on his bed. One arm was covering his eyes.

"Did you get all that?"

"Get all what?" Chuck mumbled.

"Don't make me hit you," Casey growled.

"I got all that," Chuck moved his arm away and gave a nod of satisfaction.

"Roger that," Casey gave grin of approval. "Better get it all written down."

"What?" Chuck sat upright with his eyes wide. "You want me to make notes of everything?"

"Do you really think you can remember all that stuff, moron?" Casey growled. "That was a lot of information you had to remember. Write it down in as much detail as you can and hide it somewhere. And not in your room, either. The Gestapo search our rooms every day."

"You know what, Casey?" Chuck started to frown. "Leave it with me. I'll get it done. When are we leaving?"

"Soon as we can," Casey moved to the window and peered out through the curtain. "Tomorrow, hopefully. We need to speak to Mauser first. We have to get travel papers and an exit visa."

"Right. Right," Chuck nodded. "The sooner the better Casey. I don't like it here."

"What's the matter, moron? Don't like it that Larkin has already dipped his chocolate into your girl's peanut butter?"

"You know what, Casey?" Chuck exploded. "What does that even mean? I wish I'd let Zara gut you like a fish."

Casey left the room, his laughter echoing in the hallway.

-oOo-

Chuck lay on his bed with his hands folded under his head and stared up at the ceiling until well after dark. He could hear the carousing downstairs and wondered if Zara was again flirting with the soldiers. Sure, it had hurt that she and Bryce... Given his insecurities when it came to Bryce Larkin, it was small wonder that it would hurt to find out that the woman with whom he had fallen head over heels in love had been waiting for Bryce to return. And it wasn't even that Zara had cheated on him with Bryce, like Jill had. Zara had known Bryce a long time before Chuck had met her.

But Bryce was dead and Zara was hurting. Chuck didn't like it that Zara was hurting and liked it even less that he was making things difficult for her when she could probably use a friend. Ellie would slap him so hard if she ever found out how he had been acting. Added to this was the fact that they would be leaving soon. Chuck was hoping that Zara would come home with them.

Chuck descended down the stairs from the bedrooms and into the bar below, his eyes searching for the head of gold among sea of gray. He found her off to one side of the bar, talking to two military men with high peaked caps and long, black leather coats. They were talking quietly. For a brief moment, Chuck believed that Zara had betrayed them and was telling the officers everything that she had learned. He listened hard to see if any names, like Bartowski, Casey or Larkin were mentioned.

The only word he really heard, however, was when Zara cried out a loud and anguished "Nein!" before she turned and bolted for the door, vanishing into the night air. She was clearly crying. With a frown, Chuck glanced around the bar and noticed how solemn the other soldiers appeared. The Gastwirt, Papi caught his attention. Standing by the wall with the portraits looking frail and forlorn, the old man was wrapping a black sash around the photograph of his son, Ernst. The soldier had clearly been killed in combat but what had shocked Chuck the most had been Zara's reaction. Had she truly fallen in love with her fake husband?

Remembering that he was trying to be her friend, he followed Zara outside to see if he can find her. In the gloom of the darkening sky, he spotted her across the street, sitting on a bench that was surrounded by flowers. Chuck went to her and sat down on the same bench, leaving an acceptable gap.

"I'm so sorry, Zara," he ached to reach over and take her hand.

"It's fine," Zara shrugged, staring into space.

"No it's not," Chuck shook his head. "It's not fine. It's understandable, you know. You've just found out that your husband has been killed."

Zara looked at him and blinked.

"You do realise that I'm not really married, right?" Zara looked at him. She no longer looked upset. "I never loved him and I was never intimate with him. He was just a mark. A useful tool for my charade so that I could stay here while I waited for Bryce. Yes, his death has implications for me but nothing I can't handle."

"But you seemed really upset. Zara, I saw you crying!"

"It was an act, Chuck," Zara rolled her eyes. "I was faking it. I do that a lot. I can make people think whatever I want. The thing is Chuck, spies have no emotions. Emotions get you killed. And a spy never falls in love. It's the first rule we learn."

"I don't believe that, Zara," Chuck shook his head. "You might be able to hide your emotions. You might be able to push them to one side. But you still have them, Zara. I know you do."

Zara stood up and gave Chuck a small smile. She shook her head and went back across the street to the Gasthof.

-oOo-

"_So tell me, Gnadige Frau_," Mauser seemed to speak in condescending tones as he spoke with Zara. "_How did the day go._"

"_Do we have to do this now,_" she snivelled. "_I lost my husband today._"

"_You should be proud,_" Mauser stood more upright. "_He gave his life for the Fatherland. He did his duty. And you must do yours. Did either of the Americans sneak off at any time?_"

"_No,_" Zara shook her head, looking down at the floor. "_We were together always. And I flirted with Herr Carmichael like you asked and I come home to find my Ernst is dead._"

She erupted into a fresh bout of tears.

"_Yes, yes, yes,_" the Gestapo agent looked annoyed. "_But you saw nothing out of the ordinary? They did nothing suspicious?_"

"_Nothing,_" Zara shook her head.

"_You said that you flirted with Herr Carmichael,_" he narrowed his eyes. Zara nodded at him. "_How is that progressing?_"

"_Herr Carmichael is too much a gentleman to make a pass at a married woman,_" she shook her head. "_And there is even less chance of succeeding now that I am a widow. At least, for a few months. But they are leaving soon in any case._"

"_Not necessarily,_" Mauser shook his head. "_I will make excuses to delay them here a few days while we try to figure out what they are up to. We must get inside his head._"

He clicked his heels together and gave a curt nod to her before he turned and left the bar.

"You heard all that?" Zara turned and spoke to an empty room.

"Impressive," John Casey stepped from the shadows and approached her. "The tears were a nice touch. You had better not be playing both sides of the fence, 'Gnadige Frau'."

"You don't have to worry about me, Casey," she glared at him. "I have as much interest in getting Chuck home as you have."

"Probably more," Casey grunted with a smirk.

Zara ignored him and turned to serve some soldiers who had just arrived.

-oOo-

Chuck sat alone at a table, performing his favourite new pastime. Surreptitiously watching Zara, knowing that she was fully aware of him watching her. He knew that she was acting deeply upset but she still moved among the soldiers and airmen, bringing them their drinks.

"I tell them that we must all carry on," she told Chuck when she brought him another beer. "That we must not let the death on one man lead us to fail in our duties. The Nazi's like speeches like that."

And in spite of learning only that day that her 'supposed' husband had been killed in action, still the others tried to flirt with her. Normally tolerant of their activities, Papi was quick with his stick, angrily attacking those who showed a little too much enthusiasm for the hunt. Papi was in papa bear mode.

"Guten abend," a soft voice spoke beside him. "Jederman sitzen hier?"

Chuck turned and looked up to see a slender brunette woman holding the back of a chair at his table. She held a glass of wine in her hand.

"Entschuldigen," in a garbled American accent, Chuck repeated the phrase Casey had taught him, "Aber Ich spreche keine Deutsche."

"Oh, you're American?" the surprised brunette spoke with an East Coast accent. "I asked if anyone was sitting here?"

"No," Chuck shook his head, politely climbing to his feet and indicating the chair. "It's all yours."

"Thank you," the woman smiled as she sat down. "I'm Hannah. Hannah White."

"Hi, Hannah," Chuck smiled. "And I'm Charles Carmichael. Though everyone calls me Chuck."

"Hi, yourself, Chuck. What's an American doing in the middle of Germany during a war?"

"I might ask you the same question," Chuck grinned.

"Nothing too grand," Hannah shrugged. "I'm a teacher. Of English. All of the main establishments in America don't seem to realise that women can do just as good a job as a man can so I've been forced to accept a minor teaching post over here at the Heidelberg University."

"Impressive," he gave an appreciative nod. "But isn't Heidelberg some ways that away?" he pointed in a general westward direction."

"Transport problems," Hannah shrugged. "I was on my way from back from a symposium in Berlin. They changed the travel documents and I've had to stop here in Schweinfurt while they sort out my new ones. What about you?"

"I'm just over here on business."

"Something really exciting, no doubt," she grinned. She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You're not a spy, are you?"

"Me," Chuck nearly choked on his beer. "A spy? Why would you even think that?"

"I'm only joking, Chuck," Hannah rolled her eyes.

"Which is just as well," Chuck laughed. "A nerd, definitely. A spy? Nuh uh."

The two of them sat at the table and talked all night. Hannah seemed reticent to talk about herself and when she did, it was mainly about her journey.

"I just came out of a bad relationship," she admitted. "I've known him since I was very young and I was dating him since we turned fifteen. I'm over it now, but talking about my past inevitably means I have to think about my ex, which I'd rather not do."

"That's okay," Chuck nodded. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything."

For Chuck's part, he kept to Casey's script, however, and was pleased with himself when he managed to hold his own talking about things he had only read about. The two were getting on like a house on fire. As the evening drew to a close, Hannah seemed reluctant to leave the conversation.

"I've been travelling all day," she stifled a yawn. "I really should get some sleep. Will I see you in the morning Chuck?"

"Sure," he nodded. "We could have breakfast together.

"I'd like that," she gave him a final smile. "Good night."

"Night."

He watched her leave the bar and head for the stairs. Chuck could tell that Hannah had liked him. And truth be told, Chuck had liked Hannah. Sure, she was nowhere near as drop dead gorgeous as Zara, but there had not seemed to be anything to keep her closed off like the blonde.

"Zara?" Chuck spoke quietly even though there were few customers left. "I was wondering if you could tell me something."

"Sure, Chuck," she gave him a smile.

"Has anything I have felt from you... because sometimes? I really think I can sense that you have some feelings for me and I know that you know that I'm just crazy about you so I'm just going to ask if anything I've been sensing from you is real and if there is anything to it. Zara? Could anything ever happen between us?"

Zara looked him in the eyes and shook her head. Chuck released a heavy sigh of deflation. His eyes dropped to the ground.

"Thank you for being honest," he said, every syllable filled with disappointment.

-oOo-


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi Everyone,**

Thank you for your feedback and your comments, I appreciate them all. I'm sorry that some of you might not have enjoyed the flow of that last chapter but it was kinf of transitional. I did not want to dwell on the mission and needed to get Zara's angsty kick up her backside in quickly. So with that in mind, lets get back to Germany

**Chapter 7 – Chuck vs the Brunette**

_May 1940_

Schweinfurt, Germany

Chuck was already washed and dressed when he answered the knock at his door. Expecting it to be Zara, he managed to hide his disappointment when it turned out to be Hannah.

"Good morning, Chuck," she smiled. "Care to escort me to breakfast?"

"Sure," Chuck smiled back.

While the American couple sat, eating their breakfast and talking, Chuck did not see the looks that Zara was casting them. Chuck did not miss, however, the frosty reception he received when he entered the bar with Hannah in tow.

"Could you show me the town, Chuck?" Hannah asked as they finished their breakfast. "I just love the beautiful old buildings they have in this country."

"I haven't seen much of it myself," he shook his head. "But sure. Why not?"

"Then," Hannah beamed as she stood up from the table. "Lead the way."

Hannah looped her arm into Chucks' as they walked out the door. Zara was glaring at the doorway.

"What's that matter?" the Major smirked from the bottom of the stairs. "Someone stolen your chocolate?"

"Go to hell, Casey," she snarled.

"Trust me," he grunted. "Between the two of you, I'm already there."

"Haven't you got better things to do?"

"What's that matter, Frauline?" Casey started to chuckle. "Think he's not going to want to go home, now? Maybe he'll settle down in Heidelberg and teach 'Nerd' to the Germans?"

"What is your problem?" Zara glared at him, her hands resting on her hips.

"Right now, it's you," he replied. "He's not like us. He has all these lady feelings and not too many ladies want to share them with him. So don't act all surprised when a lady comes along and actually shows some interest in him, that he's going to accept her. But my real problem is that I have no idea who this girl is and why she has appeared right now. And for the life of me, I can't understand what any girl like her would see in a guy like him."

"You know," Zara turned to clear the table Chuck had left. "You might be surprised."

"Look, I know that the Gestapo are putting pressure on you as a loyal 'Deutches Madchen' to get close to Carmichael, seducing him if necessary, to find out what he's up to. Why is that a problem? You already know the what. Why not just do the seducing and get it over with?"

"You wouldn't understand," Zara gave him a filthy look and stormed into the kitchen.

"How about some breakfast?" Casey called after her, laughing.

-oOo-

"Hi, Zara," Chuck came into the bar alone at lunch time. "How are you, today?"

"I'm fine," she shrugged, not even looking up from the table she was cleaning.

"I was, uh, wondering if there was any chance you could get me some lunch."

"This is not a restaurant," she growled in her thick, Germanic accent. "You are paying for your bed, for your breakfast and for your evening meal only."

"But you've always made me some lunch," Chuck frowned.

"Perhaps," she hissed, "you should be writing up your notes from the tour the other day."

"Relax, Zara," Chuck turned to leave. "Already taken care of."

"You have hidden them in a safe place?" she demanded.

"Safest place on earth," he nodded as he turned up the stairs. "They're where no one will find them. Not even you."

-oOo-

The rest of the week played out much the same way. Hannah and Chuck seemed to spend a lot of time together while Zara treated him with a cold indifference that hurt him.

"Zara," Chuck braved her wrath on the Friday morning. "I went past the Tanzehalle today. And I saw that there's a dance tonight."

"Always on a Friday night," Zara returned to her cleaning.

"Well, I was sort of thinking that we could maybe... you know, go dancing again. Together."

"Bad idea, Chuck," she shook her head. "I'm supposed to be grieving. But you could always take your new little friend."

The sarcasm rolled off her words like glacier.

"You know what?" he balled his fists at his hips. "I think I'll do just that. At least she doesn't blow hot and cold at me."

Chuck turned and walked away while Zara stood and watched. She angrily threw her washcloth at his retreating form before she blew a puff of air upwards, blowing some hair from her eye.

-oOo-

"I had a great time," Hannah smiled up at Chuck as the approached the door to the Gasthof.

They had attended the dance and boogied the night away - at least, as best as one could boogie to the sounds of an Oompah band committing murder with 'In The Mood' . When it was time to leave, the two of them walked arm in arm back to the _Goldener Löwen. The bar was quite muted, mainly out of respect for Ernst's death but also probably due to the fact that as soldiers, the rest of the crowd at the bar were considering their own mortality. Added to this oppression, Chuck could not help noticing the glare of animosity that Zara was giving him. Morgan would have called it the 'Stink Eye'._

"Let's get a bottle of Schnapps and go up to your room," Hannah suggested. "It would probably be more fun up there."

"Uh, you know, I don't think that's..." Chuck started to object but it was falling on deaf ears. Or rather, no ears at all because Hannah was already scooting up stairs. "...such a good idea."

Chuck looked over at Zara but decided that with the fierce glower that she had just levelled at him, asking her for anything at all would be a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. There was no sign of Papi, either. All in all, Chuck thought that this turn of events was a good thing. He did not want to take a bottle of Schnapps up to his room and get drunk with Hannah... in his room. With a sigh, partly relief and partly sadness, Chuck headed for the stairs and made his way to his room.

"Hannah?" he called out softly to check as he opened his door.

The room was still in darkness and there was no answer and when Chuck stepped inside. Flipping on the switch, he was definitely relieved to find that he was alone. He sat on the edge of his bed and just stared into space.

There was a tapping on his door and immediately Hannah stepped in. She was wearing a flowing, black silk dressing gown that brushed the floor as she crossed to the bed. In one hand was a tall, brown stoneware bottle and in the other, she held two short stemmed conical glasses.

"You didn't slip into something more comfortable?" she asked as she sat down next to him.

"No," he accepted the glasses with a nervous laugh and held them upright. "But apparently you did."

"Of course," she smiled as she poured out the clear liquid. "Saves time for later. Prosit."

Hannah took a sip of the Schnapps but when Chuck followed suit, she frowned at him.

""You're supposed to drink it down in one," she informed him.

"I, uh, was kind of following you," his voice croaked as his throat contracted from the fiery liquid. "That's uh... wow."

-oOo-

Chuck wasn't sure how many drinks he had imbibed. He only knew three things for sure. One, his name was Chuck. Two, he was making sure that Hannah was matching him drink for drink. And three, his whole mouth felt numb.

"Did you ever play any drinking games?" Hannah slurred.

"Oh, schlure... sure," he nodded enthusiastically. "me and my Fart buddies..." he started to giggle at his faux pas. "Frat! Frat buddies. Me and my... Frat... buddies, we played them all the time."

"Whass a Frat?" her eyes seemed unable to focus on anything.

Which was fine because neither could Chuck's.

"Ha ha ha ha ha," he gave his nervous staccato laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," she shook her head very theatrically.

"Frat... Fraternity. You know. Alpha, beta, theta..."

"Is all Greek to me," Hannah started to laugh in a high pitched voice. "What Fart did you join?"

"Gamma Delta Phi, Chuck nodded proudly. "Me and Bryce joined up the same time. I think they only wanted Bryce but he said if they didn't take me too then he wouldn't join neither."

"Gamma Delta Phi," Hannah repeated. "What college was that again?"

"Stanford," Chuck gave a cheesy grin.

Somewhere inside his anaesthetized brain, something was screaming at him. 'Be careful what you say, numbnuts.'

"But that's on the West coast," Hannah frowned. "You live in Connecticut, right?"

"Uh huh," Chuck looked over at her and blinked. "Uh, did you lose your dressing gown?"

Hannah had, in fact, removed her dressing gown to reveal a silky black nightdress. With a plunging front, it exposed a huge amount of her pale flesh and the heaving swells of her breasts. Not that she was over endowed or anything, but has Chuck had not been intimate with a woman since Jill, two years ago, they looked big enough. Just not as big as...

Where had that come from?

"Is it getting warm in here?" Hannah fanned herself. "Or is it just me?"

She lifted the bottle and topped their glasses.

"Do you have any family, Chuck?"

"A sister," he nodded, his face going distant as a look of pride graced his face.

"You must love her a lot," Hannah raised her eyebrows at the look on his face. "Do you see her a lot?"

"All the time," Chuck admitted. "Seeing as I live with her."

"You still live with your sister?" she started to chuckle.

"We're all we have," Chuck glared at her. "After we lost out parents, Ellie practically raised me. And it wasn't easy, you know? Did you know that she put herself through medical school to become a Doctor? You know yourself how hard it is for a woman trying to succeed in a man's world."

"You're right," Hannah shrugged. "It must have been very hard for her."

"It was," Chuck's voice softened. "And I really don't know how she would have managed if it hadn't have been for Captain Awesome."

"Captain awesome?" she laughed out loud.

"I call him that because, well, he is. Awesome. He was the only one who helped her. He tutored her when she didn't understand something, he let her borrow his notes if she ever missed a class. He was great. And now, they're dating."

"Does he have a real name?"

"Devon," Chuck nodded with a smile. "It seems so strange to call him that. Devon Woodcombe."

"Even his name is awesome," Hannah giggled as she too another sip of Schnapps.

"'Course," Chuck gave a smirk and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now I'm not there, he's probably spending as much time in Burbank with her as possible. They're sleeping together, you know."

"What a good idea," Hannah stood on very wobbly legs and pulled the eiderdown back. "Time you changed into that 'something more comfortable', Chuck."

"Hi-yo," he gulped. "I'll just, uh..."

He picked up his pyjamas and made his way to the changing screen in the corner. The whole room would not stop spinning and when he finally managed to prop himself up where the two walls met, Chuck gave up and allowed himself to pass into a state commonly known as oblivion.

-oOo-

The seven Dwarves were already mining the insides of Chuck's head when he woke up that morning. They had a rhythm built up and the hammers they were using were clearly on the large size if the headache he woke up to was anything to go by. And somehow, they had managed to fit the entire Mojave desert into his mouth.

"Hurts, hurts," he groaned as he clambered somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

He tried to stretch out the kinks and the knots that had formed in his complaining muscles because of the position that he collapsed into. What was he doing behind the screen again? With a hand pressed to his head, trying to simultaneously sooth his headache and shield his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. He shuffled into his room and groaned upon seeing the body of Snow White crashed out on his bed. A very naked Snow White. One hand covered his eyes completely.

"Hannah," he reached his other hand out to shake her awake by her shoulder.

With his eyes covered, he was not very accurate. His hand pressed against something soft, and round.

"Crap! Sorry! Sorry!" he stammered.

Briefly opening his eyes to locate her shoulder, he tried again.

"Wake up, Hannah."

"Scheisse," she complained in a gravelly voice. "Es tut weh!"

"Hannah, it's me, Chick," he tried again.

"Chuck?" she groaned. "What the hell happened?"

"We got a little drunk," with his hands still covering his eyes, he turned around.

"Do you think?" she snapped. "I feel like cr..."

"Can you put some clothes on, please?" Chuck begged.

"Wha...?" Hannah slurred. "Oh, yeah. Just a minute."

There was a rustle of clothing.

"You can turn around now," she sounded amused.

Chuck turned and opened a finger to double check that she was in fact, decent. Seeing that she had replaced her night dress and dressing gown, he dropped his hand.

"This is, uh..." she looked down, "...a little awkward, huh?"

"Just a bit," Chuck nodded. His manners, however, kicked in. "hey, but I had a great time last night. Even if the band was a little..."

"Too much Oomp?" the brunette smirked.

"And not enough pah," Chuck laughed back. "Ow! Hurts!"

"Okay," Hannah tried to stand up. Chuck had to help her. "I'm going to go get cleaned up. And dressed. And see if I can get anything for this headache."

"Good idea," Chuck shuffled o the door and opened it.

"Later," she kissed his cheek as she passed him.

"Yeah," he watched her leave.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a movement of a golden halo. Zara was standing at the top of the stairs. If there had ever been such a thing as Death Rays emitting from people's eyes, like in some of the comics he had read, the Chuck would be a molten puddle of melted flesh right now.

"Crap, crap, crap," he groaned as he shut the door and collapsed onto his bed.

This trip just kept getting worse and worse.

-oOo-

Still feeling under the weather, Chuck managed to drag himself downstairs for some breakfast. He passed Casey on the way who simply smirked at him. Sitting at the table, it was easier on Chuck's eyes as the bar was considerably darker than his room. And if Zara had been 'frosty' to him yesterday, this morning, she was positively glacial.

"Nothing happened," Chuck tried to assure her.

"Why would I care?" she snapped, slamming a cup of coffee on the table in from of him. She also placed two white tablets. "It's not like I care who you see or don't see, or who you sleep with."

Chuck had had enough.

"Zara," he started with anger.

He climbed to his feet, pushing his chair back with his legs.

"Shhh," she pressed her hand to his mouth, silencing him, as she stared at the bar's entrance, her face deep in concentration.

Giving him little time to react, Zara pulled him away from the table and behind the bar. They went through a doorway and entered a kitchen. Zara pulled a louvered door open and pulled Chuck into a small closet. All at once, Chuck had completely forgotten about his headache. They were in a very tight, enclosed space, pressed face to face. Chuck could feel her breath on his neck, he could feel her heartbeat, her lush breasts pressed against his chest. He knew that she would feel his response to her and Chuck just wanted to die, there and then. But what was going on?

"Zara?" he started.

"Shhh," she again silenced him. "Mauser's here. Gestapo. He's talking to your friend."

"What?" his eyes went wide. "Mauser's here? Wait. What friend?"

"I heard him say to follow him into the kitchen. I want to hear what they have to say."

As Zara went silent, Chuck could hear the two people enter the room.

"Erklären Sie mir," Mauser spoke. "Was haben Sie zu berichten?"

"He wants to know what she has to report," Zara whispered.

"She?" Chuck frowned.

"Er behält ihn Charles Carmichael ist," Hannah's voice spoke out. "Er sagt, dass er für General Motors arbeitet

"Zara?" Chuck sounded disturbed.

"You didn't compromise your cover story," Zara's voice had a cold edge to it. "We can be thankful for that."

"What's Hannah doing with Mauser?"

"Shhh," Zara hissed at him again.

Chuck could hardly believe it. Hannah had been a honey trap. A German spy. The enemy. And Chuck had fallen for it. He could hear Casey calling him all the names under the sun.

"You let slip some personal details," Zara's face darkened. "You told her that you went to Stanford with a guy called Bryce. Mauser has heard that name before. He came across a Bryce Larkin in Spain. They heard a few whispers that he was on some mission in Germany but didn't know where. Chuck? This is bad. This is very bad."

"What is?" Chuck's eyes were wide with fright.

"Shhh. He's talking again. Okay, Mauser has some kind of book, here in Schweinfurt. Hannah was surprised that he brought it with him, because it contains all the names and code names of their top agents in the U.S. Mauser says it's locked in some kind of electronic vault at Gestapo headquarters. Dammit. They're not going to issue you your travel papers yet, Chuck. They're going to make you stay another week. He's contacting his agents on the west coast. They're trying to find out more about you, Chuck."

"Zara?" his whisper sounded like a whine. "I'm freaking out."

-oOo-


	8. Chapter 8

Hello everyone, sorry for the delay. Family matters, but here I am, ready to go. Again, thank you for the reviews and thank you for reading. Someone has commented on how hard it is to connect Zara in my strory with Sarah we all know and love - seeing her as a different name is throwing them. So just read it this way. Z in German can be pronounces as a TS sound. Make the T silent and flatten the a from pArk to mAre. There you go :)

**Chapter 8 – Chuck vs the Gestapo**

_May 1940_

Schweinfurt, Germany

In a trance like daze, Chuck climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared out of the window. He knew it was bad. Hannah had managed to worm herself into his affections and had, with the aid of a bottle of schnapps, persuaded him to reveal some truths about himself. Truths that could unmask him as a spy. And like he had said all those months ago. They shoot spies.

He and, in all probability, Casey would be shot. The mission would fail and the Nazi Stormtroopers would march across America, putting the lives of three of the five people he cared the most about, in danger. Morgan, Awesome and Ellie. Casey would already be dead and that would leave Zara. Zara! Zara could complete the mission. If he could document the secrets he held in some form of secret code that only one person in the world would understand – and decipher, Zara could carry it out of Germany.

Twenty minutes later, Chuck was busy scribbling. He had run to a nearby store and purchased a thick notebook, full of blank pages. On these pages he was now drawing strange and weird pictures. Lots of them. In the weird pictures, strangely drawn people in a strangely drawn world were holding even stranger conversations, little speech bubbles appearing over their heads. The sun continued to rise as midday came and went.

Zara paused by his door and peered in at him. Still maintaining an air of indifference, she placed a sandwich of dark bread and cheese along with a cup of coffee on his table. She frowned when she saw what he was working so diligently on.

"Think the pressure has got to him?" Casey asked from the hallway behind her.

He had a look of concern as he peered over her shoulder at the madness that Chuck was drawing.

"It wouldn't surprise me," she shook her head and walked away.

The sun fell, bringing with it a golden twilight as it started to set behind the distant hills. And still, Chuck worked on with his efforts.

"Knock, knock," Hannah appeared at his door as the gloom was making it hard for Chuck to continue.

"Hey," he looked up and made himself smile. "How you feeling?"

"Better, thanks," she nodded with a grin. "Though I could do with some dinner. Care to join me?"

"Of course," Chuck leaned back, put his pencil down and stretched his aching long limbs.

"What are these?" Hannah called to him as he quickly crossed to the basin of water and washed his face.

Chuck returned to see what Hannah had been looking at. She was leafing through the book he had been drawing in.

"Have you ever heard of a comic, called Adventures into the Unknown?"

"No," Hannah shook her head. "Sorry."

"Well," Chuck shrugged. "It's a story in a comic called All American Comics. It only started last year so if you've been here for some time, then I guess you never... Anyway, this story, Adventures in the Unknown, it's about these two college students, Alan Kane, nicknamed Brains, and Ted Dolliver, Brawn and how they are recruited by this Professor Luytens to accompany him on this trip to Mars... You know, it's all about space and rockets and.. you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No," she shook her head. "But don't let me stop you. It sounds fascinating."

"Okay, so anyway, I'm kind of drawing my own comic strip, you know, scenes from the future and stuff." He looked up at her and grinned. "I expect you're wondering how you can back out of dinner now, huh?"

"No," she shook her head with a smile. "Let's just say that I have a thing for nerds."

-oOo-

During dinner, it was clear that Chuck was not at ease. For one thing, he had no idea how to conduct himself now that he knew that Hannah was a spy. Should he tell her this? Would she deny it? Would she make a scene? What if she demanded that he proved it? He could not let her know that he knew she was a spy because he and Zara had, well, spied on her. He needed his own evidence.

Another thing causing his uneasiness was the fact that Zara had seemed totally shocked that he was having dinner with her. The last thing Chuck wanted to do was to disappoint Zara any more than he had already. But how could he turn his back on Hannah so abruptly without causing a major and embarrassing – for him – scene? Not to mention the suspicion this might raise.

"What's up Chuck?" his dinner partner had clearly noticed his distraction.

"Nothing," he shrugged, returning his attention to her. "It's just... Hey. I just realised. You know practically everything about me and all I know about you is that you're some kind of English teacher at Heidelberg University."

"That's what's bothering you?" she giggled. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, you know. How about, where did you grow up? Who was your best friend? What school did you go to? Things like that."

"It sound's like you're interrogating me," she raised an eyebrow.

"Fair's fair, huh?" Chuck deadpanned with a cheesy grin. "I mean, you did the interrogating last night. Now it's my turn."

Hannah gave him a hard, suspicious stare before she shrugged and smiled at him.

"Well, I grew up in... uh, Boston."

"Really?" Chuck's eyes widened. "Wow. I'd love to see Boston. I always wanted to visit there, you know, what with me living just up the road, so to speak. All that history? Wow. I would so loved to have gone to the Boston Tea Party."

"I've been to one," Hannah shrugged.

"Huh?" Chuck blinked.

"They're not so great," Hannah continued. "I don't even like tea."

"Which is why they throw it all in the water, right?"

"What?" It was Hannah's turn to blink.

"The tea. They threw it all in the sea."

"Oh, yeah. Right," Hannah nodded. "Besides, I hardly did anything exciting there And I didn't have many friends, because I was studying so hard."

"Did you go to college in Boston?" Chuck narrowed his eyes.

"Of course," Hannah nodded. "I studied English and German."

"No way!" Chuck smiled. "Don't tell me that you went to the famous Harvard? Only the really intelligent people go there."

"Have you been there?" Hannah eyed him with suspicion.

"No," Chuck shook his head. "I told you. I've never been anywhere near Boston."

"Yes, I went to Harvard."

"Wow," Chuck looked immensely impressed. "I'm having dinner with a Harvard Undergraduate."

"Yes, you are," Hannah grinned, placing her hand over hiss. "So I guess that makes me as much a Nerd as you."

"That it would," Chuck nodded. "Or it would if I believed for one moment that you ever lived in Boston let alone attended Harvard."

"What do you mean?" she frowned with a confused look in her eyes.

"Okay, first of all, The Boston Tea Party took place in 1773 and I really don't think you are old enough to have been there. It's not some annual social event. But I could understand someone being mistaken about that. But Harvard? Really? Harvard doesn't accept women as undergraduates, Hannah. I might have believed you if you had said Radcliff College... that's where the women go. But not Harvard."

"Chuck..." Hannah started.

"What are you?"" Chuck asked with narrowed eyes. "Gestapo, or something? Have you been ordered to... what? Seduce me? See if I have any secrets or anything? Well, you're out of luck. I'm just a regular schmuk who they decided to send out here to make sure that we could still buy ball bearings from your factories. So sorry to disappoint you."

"What are you talking about, Chuck?" the woman complained. "So I made a mistake. I mean, my god! We had sex last night."

"No," he shook his head. "No we didn't. I know that when I have too much to drink, and last night, I had way more than too much, then I just pass out, cold. So, you knowe, your virtue or whatever, is still there."

"You bastard," Hannah reached all the way across the table to slap him.

"I'm too polite to reply to that," Chuck rubbed the side of his face, keenly aware that everyone in the bar, Zara included were now watching them. Some were openly amused. "And tell Herr Mauser that I demand that we see the US Consul for the area. I think, that as a foreign citizen, I have some rights, even in this country."

"Is everything here in order?" Zara asked with a forced smile.

She had appeared at Chuck's side. He sensed, rather than saw her reaching for her knife.

"I was just leaving," Hannah spat with a hint of a German accent as she rose and threw her crumpled napkin on the table.

Chuck and Zara watched her leave while the rest of the patrons returned to whatever it was that they had been doing.

"Zara," he whispered to her with a sense of desperation. "We have to get out of here."

"Go up to you room," she nodded at him. "Get some sleep. I'll ask Casey to put pressure on Mauser to get your papers."

-oOo-

Chuck was sitting on the end of his bed, staring out of the window at the night sky. There was a soft knock at the door but he didn't acknowledge it. Zara opened the door and entered his room, anyway.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soft voice.

Chuck gave a shrug of his shoulders. Zara crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him.

"I guess," he replied after a pause.

"Want to talk about it?" she persisted.

"Not really," Chuck shook his head, "It's just... I'd really like it, just once, to find a girl who likes me for me and not because of what I can do, or because it's a way to get into my supposed best friend's bed."

Believing the barb to be aimed at her, Zara flinched. She climbed from the bed and crossed to the door.

"You'd better get some sleep," her voice sounded sad. "If Casey gets your papers, he's going to want to leave immediately."

"Aren't you coming..." he turned but she was already gone.

-oOo-

"He's stalling, isn't he?" Chuck stared out of his window at the parading soldiers below.

It had been good news from the front and the soldiers took every opportunity to show off to the townsfolk, especially the pretty girls. Zara was already the target of a number of them, most of them high ranking officers.

Casey gave a grunt of confirmation. He had spent the last three days, without success, trying to pressure Mauser into getting them their travel papers. He had even tried to phone the consulate in Berlin but the Telephone exchange had suspiciously developed a fault with outgoing lines.

"Maybe I shouldn't have exposed Hannah," Chuck scratched his ear.

"That was a good move," Casey nodded his head. "It was messing up your mind. Take my advice and only think of one girl at a time. Anything more messes you up."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Chuck turned to face Casey.

"No," the Marine shook his head. "I said thinking of more than one girl messes 'you' up."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Not unless you want to run," Casey shrugged. "Not my choice of preference but it's doable."

"God, I want to go home," Chuck turned and closed his eyes. "I wish I had never even heard of Bryce freaking Larkin."

-oOo-

Chuck had been unable to face the bar that evening. He was starting to find the presence of so many German soldiers oppressive. It was starting to feel like they were all there to keep an eye on him. Worse, Zara was almost constantly surrounded by officers who were trying to get her to go out to dinner with them. There was one particular man, dressed in an entirely black uniform that made his skin crawl. There wasn't a crease or fold out of place. His high peaked cap had a skull and crossbones logo on the peak and these were two stylised lightening shaped S's on his lapels. With his blond hair, his bright blue eyes and his very manly physique, he made Chuck feel positively sloth-like.

Either Zara was enjoying the attentions of these men, something he truly did not believe but his insecurities were running rampant, or she was avoiding him because she had not come up to see if he wanted anything to eat. It was very late now, the streets outside had gone quiet and there were no sounds from the bar below. Feeling hungry, Chuck decided that he would go downstairs to see if he could find some bread and cheese in the kitchen pantry.

-oOo-

Having closed the door on the last guest a short while ago, Zara had made short work of cleaning the bar. She had developed a routine early on in her mission, especially after she discovered that Papi would leave it all to her and go to his room where he would finish getting more drunk before passing out in a stupor.

Now, she was sitting at a table with a glass of cold milk, taking a well earned rest. As it had been doing more and more of late, her mind turned to the latest problem in her complicated life.

Chuck.

Zara did not believe in love at first sight. She certainly had never experienced it. And despite her deep feelings for the tall, brown haired nerd asleep in his room upstairs, Zara new that she had not fallen in love at first sight with him. No, she had fallen for Chuck one warm and starry night in a town called Guadalest in eastern Spain where she and Bryce had been hiding from Franco's forces in a hidden cavern system. To pass the time, he had been telling her all about his Frat buddies from back home. One name in particular came up more and more, and intuitive as always, Zara had realised that Bryce was both envious and in awe of Chuck. He told her about how great a friend he was, how he went out of his way to help people, of the good and wonderful things he did for his friends and strangers alike. Zara had developed feelings for Chuck a long time before she had even met him.

And right now, he was upstairs feeling totally worthless because she had lied to him which had allowed him to fall victim to the Gestapo honey trap that was Hannah and reveal things that could put his family in danger. It wasn't his fault, it was hers. Chuck had been obvious from the moment he met her. She had known at once that he had feelings for her, but he was much too nice to even think about acting upon them while he had thought she was a married woman. She could see that it had hurt him to learn that she had been with Bryce. And it had hurt him when she had pulled away from him. She didn't even want to think what it had done to him when she had told him she had no feelings for him like he had for her. It was a total mess.

Yet, it wasn't one that could not be cleared up. She believed that Chuck did not harbour grudges. If she spoke to him honestly and let him know where she was, he would understand. The gulf between them would be bridged and perhaps they might even be able to forge a relationship. Yes. She would go to him at once. With a look of determination, Zara rose from her chair and finished her milk.

"Guten abend, Zara," a voice came from the shadows of the bar's entrance. Herr Mauser of the Gestapo walked into the bar and placed his hat on the nearest table. "_I was hoping to find you still awake._"

"_How can I help you?_" Zara could speak German as fluently as any local but she still preferred to talk in English. But as long as she was supposed to be a loyal Deutches Hausfrau, she would converse in their tongue.

"_You have no doubt heard by now that Hanzi Weiss, was discovered by Herr Carmichael to be an agent?_"

"_Yes,_" Zara nodded. "_But I don't know how he found out. I didn't even know she was an agent._"

"_That is because I do not believe that Herr Carmichael is who he says he is. I believe that he is a spy. A very clever spy. A spy who makes everyone believe that he could never be one._"

"_Then how will you prove it?_" she crossed her arms across her chest.

"_I am asking you again, Zara. I want you to do what you must to learn what you can. We know he has somehow obtained the plans. Perhaps he has photographed them? We need to know where he has hidden them. We have searched his room and we have had him under constant surveillance. He has never hidden or dropped anything off. All we can find are those ridiculous comic book drawings of his. Herr Alexander, too. He spends far too much time walking the streets. He makes no notes, takes no pictures but I have a feeling that he sees everything._"

"_Maybe they are who they say they are._"

"_No, something is not right with them,_" Mauser shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "_Before she was discovered, Weiss learned a few things about our mysterious Charles Carmichael. He attended Stanford, and he mentioned a sister in Burbank, who was dating a doctor Devon Woodcombe. I have agents in Los Angeles. They did some investigating for me and has found there an Ellie Bartowski who, yes, is dating a doctor Devon Woodcome. And she has a brother, Charles who attended Stanford and who she believes has a new job in Seattle. I am waiting for him to send me his description but I am confident that it will match that of Herr Carmichael. Curious, no?_"

"_If you have this information, why do you need me to seduce Herr Carmichael?_"

"_Once I have the truth, I will give Herr Carmichael a choice. He will return the plans or we kill his sister. We will know who he is now and he cannot hide from us any longer. And then, we will discuss his working for 'me', passing me secrets. And this is where you come in. You could be his handler. You will control him for me. How would you like to return to USA with him?_"

"_I would like that,_" she nodded. "_Who else knows of this? Weiss?_"

"_Only me,_" he smiled. "_I would like to keep Herr Carmichael to myself so that I can use his information to become even more important to the Abwehr. But I have him, now. His life as he knows it is over._"

"_No,_" Zara shook her head. "_It's not._"

With the speed of a striking cobra, Zara's hand lashed out from her dirndl, now clutching a knife and stepping closer to the man, thrust the knife into his chest even as she clamped her other hand across his mouth, pushing him hard against the back wall. He hardly had time to blink. Clutching his chest with his hands, a bubbling sound emerged from the wound and as Zara twisted the knife, Herr Mauser of the Gestapo collapsed to the ground.

From his hiding point in the shadows, Chuck had been watching the two, closely. While he could not understand what they had been saying, he had recognised the names 'Carmichael' and 'Alexander' mentioned a few times. He was not totally sure if Zara was in need of any help or not but he was not going to leave her alone with this man. Especially when he heard the man mention Ellie and Devon. When Sarah had suddenly lashed out at Mauser with her hand while clamping his mouth with her other hand, it took Chuck a few moments to realize that the dark liquid he had seen spray out was Mauser's blood. It took Mauser's body falling to the floor to make Chuck realise that his beloved Zara had just murdered a man in cold blood. With his body trembling, he snuck back upstairs to his room and closed the door.

-oOo-

A/N - Harvard did not accept Women Undergraduates until 1943.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello again. Sunday already? Thanks again for all your comments anf feedback, and thank you for reading my story. Talking of which, let's proceed, shall we?

**Chapter 9 – Chuck vs the Shadows**

_May 1949_

Schweinfurt, Germany

Chuck sat in his darkened room, staring out at the moon for what seemed like hours. The stupid Cuckoo clock on the wall told him that he had only been sitting there for an hour, replaying in his mind, over and over, the image of the beautiful Zara murdering the unarmed Gestapo agent in cold blood. His whole body was trembling.

The door burst open, causing Chuck to leap to his feet with a slightly girlish scream. He brought both hands up to protect his head while one knee lifted and turned inward to cover her privates.

"Great reactions, moron," Casey sneered.

"It's called the Morgan. We..." Chuck started. "You know what? Never mind."

"Pack everything you can in this," Zara took a back pack from Casey and handed it to Chuck. "You're leaving."

"We are?" Chuck took the pack and crossed to his drawer.

"Just don't forget to pack the secrets you've hidden."

"But what about Mauser?" Chuck turned to face his friends, although he did not look at Zara. "Did he bring our travel papers?"

"Yeah," Casey nodded, tossing the stout walking shoes onto Chuck's bed. "He gave them to me a little while ago. But we have to move quick."

"Zara's coming with us, right?" Chuck looked at Zara but quickly looked away.

"Sorry, Chuck," she shook her head. "I don't have any papers."

"But we're not leaving you behind," Chuck protested. "Not now you don't have the husband cover to protect you."

"I'll be fine, Chuck."

"No," he was adamant. "You don't know that. There's no reason for you to stay."

"Come on, moron," Casey demanded. "Get packed. We have to go, now!"

"Not without Zara!" Chuck folded his arms across his chest.

"Bartowski!"

"No!" Chuck sat down on his bed. "Was all that talk about Semper Fi just talk? Or did you really mean it? We all go or none of us goes."

"Okay," Casey spat through clenched teeth. "Go get packed, Frauline. And Bartowski, I swear. When we get stateside, I'm going to kill you."

"Yeah," Chuck countered a little to feebly for his liking. "As long as we all get stateside together."

-oOo-

"We'll slip out the back way," Zara whispered as they crept down stairs.

Both Zara and Casey made no noise at all. Chuck made enough for all three of them in spite of trying hard not to. As they reached the doorway into the bar, Zara paused to let Chuck follow Casey through. He shook his head and with what Zara was sure was a look of fear, he motioned for her to go through first.

It was almost, Zara thought, as though he was afraid to have her behind him.

His heart was pounding loudly when they stepped into the area that Zara had killed Mauser. He was sure that they would see his body still lying there, but he saw nothing. Not even the huge amount of blood he knew that should have been there. Zara must have cleaned it up, he reasoned, and almost asked her.

In a back room, they heard a strange sound from the darkened shadows. Zara moved to the entrance to the room, ready to act in case of a threat. Already, she had a knife in her hand. The sound they heard was a snore. Papi has collapsed in a drunken stupor in a large chair and was now sleeping it off. He held his son's portrait in his arms and there were tear tracks on his cheeks.

"I feel really sorry for him," Chuck said with a little moroseness in his voice.

"Why?" Zara peered at him.

"He's lost his only son, Zara," Chuck frowned at the old man. "And now he's going to lose what he thinks is his daughter in law. I mean, the poor guy."

"You are amazing, Chuck," Zara shook her head. "Only you would think of something like that at a time like this. He's the enemy."

"He's still a human being."

"Yes he is," Zara gave a small nod. "And the fact that you see him that way only shows how special you are."

"We done with the lady feelings, here?" Casey growled. "I'd really like to be gone before the sun comes up.

Sneaking through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows, the trio were making their way toward the train station. Zara kept glancing at Chuck who seemed to be doing his level best to keep some distance between them.

"Why are we sneaking," Chuck suddenly asked, "if we're allowed to leave?"

He saw Zara and Casey glance at one another.

"We don't have any papers, do we?" he stated. "We're running, aren't we?"

But Chuck already knew the answer.

"Yes, we are," Zara confirmed.

"And why is that?" he was looking directly at Zara, even though he would not meet her eyes.

"The Germans have reached Abbeville in France," Casey told him. "Paris is threatened and Channel ports are close at hand. Things look bad for the French and for the British Expeditionary force. We have to get out of here before the Nazi's turn the whole of Europe into a fortress. And Mauser wasn't ever going to give us any travel papers."

"It's okay Chuck," Zara spoke in a low soothing voice. "We'll protect you. We'll make sure you get those secrets home."

"The secrets," Chuck spoke in a monotone. "Right."

-oOo-

When they had moved away from the Gasthof and were hidden in an area of dark shadows, Casey held them up.

"We need to take a side trip," he looked at the pair of them.

"Where?" Zara asked with suspicion.

Casey looked from one to the other and took a breath.

"Gestapo HQ."

"You're kidding, right?" Zara was the first to recover from the stunned silence. "What on earth for?"

"You said that Mauser had a book that contained the names of Nazi agents in the west, right? We need to get that book. We have to bring it with us."

"Are you crazy?" she demanded. "We can't risk these secrets that Chuck's carrying."

"With that book, we can close a lot of their operations down. We could save a lot of lives and a lot of time."

"But the lock," Zara protested. "It's electronic. I'm a damned good lockpick but I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"I would," Chuck injected. "Electronics... this is my thing."

"The nerd has a point," Casey gave a nod of approval.

"What?" Zara gasped. "No way, Casey. Chuck is the only one who knows where the secrets are stored. We need him to pick them up and then we need to get him to safety as fast as we can. We don't have time to..."

"I agree with Casey," Chuck silenced her. Casey gave a satisfied and proud grunt. "We have to do this. And we can't waste any more time talking about what we're going to end up doing in any case."

"Fine," Zara's blue eyes looked like hard black agates. "But you listen to what we say and do as we tell you."

"Or what, Zara?" Chuck challenged with a hint of anger.

Even Casey was shocked.

-oOo-

Even using the less brightly lit back streets, it did not take them too long to make their way to the Gestapo headquarters, which were located in a side street behind the Rathaus. Chuck listened carefully as Zara and Casey developed an impromptu plan to get Chuck into the small building and keep anyone inside away from him while he located and liberated the book. Chuck hid behind a bush where he could keep an eye on everything.

Casey moved first, using his skills and stealth to make his way to a shadowed nook, a short distance away from the single German sentry outside the main door. When he was in place, Zara walked straight up to the entrance. The guard snapped to attention when Zara emerged from the darkness and into the halo of light.

"Gutenabend, Obergefreites," her voice carried. "_I need to speak with Herr Mauser._"

"Es tut mir leit, Zara," the guard gave her a big smile and tried to look important. "Herr Mauser is not here at the moment."

"_Then I need to speak to someone in authority_."

"_Of course_," he nodded at the doorway. "_You can go in_."

"Danke sehr," she gave him a big smile and exaggerated her swaying hips as she climbed the stairs.

As the sentry craned his neck to get a better look at Zara's legs while she climbed the stairs, Casey pounced from the shadows, grabbing him from behind and holding his hand over his mouth, pulling the poor man back into the darkness, where Chuck hoped Casey would merely render him unconscious. Chuck hurried across the street and reached the door just as Casey, now squeezed into the guard's uniform, was taking the man's place. His snap to attention was every bit as good as the German's had been.

"Freaky," Chuck shook his head as he stared at Casey.

Trying to remain calm, Chuck entered the building. He had removed his boots and left them with his pack, so that only in his socks, he could maintain some form of silence. Chuck could hear two deep male voices and Zara's higher, lighter voice in the room to one side. Her giggle indicated that she was flirting with the men inside. Forcing back a scowl, he crept passed the door, glancing inside to see that Zara was standing at the back of the room, forcing the two Gestapo agents to sit with their backs to the door. She turned away from the door and pretended to examine something on the table. As she bent over, both men had their eyes glued on Zara's legs, even moving to try to look up her skirt.

Growling with disgust, Chuck hurried past the room and followed the electricity cables that were tacked to the wall. He found the door with the bulky panel that included a nine digit key pad. From his back pocket, he pulled out his small toolkit and using some small screwdrivers, quickly opened the panel. Using alligator clips attached to wire, he quickly redirected the current to bypass the security.

"Piece of cake," he smirked when he made the final connection.

There was a click as the door popped open. He stepped into the room and spotted Mauser's book at once.

"Well, that's not good," he mumbled to himself at he stared at his target.

It wasn't that thick. Only the thickness of a large comic, it was however, over twelve inches long and eight inches wide. The cover appeared to be some form of hardened leather. This was not the problem, however. The fact that it was chained to a metal ring bolted to the wall, was. There was no lock and the only way Chuck was going to be able to take that book away was to cut through one of the links. And he had no saw.

-oOo-

In the room with the Gestapo agents, Zara was getting a little concerned. Both of the men were rather oily, unlikeable men. Both had been bullies and braggarts before the war and had joined the Gestapo so that they could use their authority for their own ends. They had settled many an old score since they had joined, and had probably had more woman since coming to power than they had during their life before. Added to this was the fact that both were old enough to be her father. And yet, here she was, acting like she was interested in these creeps.

What was taking Chuck so long? He had assured her and Casey that he could open the lock in less than a minute and he had passed the door almost twenty minutes ago. She knew that he had not been caught because these two men were the only ones on duty, apart from the guard who Casey must have taken care of. No alarms had been raised.

If Chuck didn't make his appearance, soon, she would have to take direct action, herself. One of the agents had placed his hand on her knee a few moments ago and with no protest from her, his hand had started to move higher, ever so slightly. Zara was slowly reaching for the knife in her dirndl when Chuck appeared at the door, knocking on the wooden panel. The two Gestapo men, caught under Zara's spell, jumped to their feet, trying to pretend that they had been aware all this time.

"Excuse me," he announced. "Is Her Mauser here? Oh, hi Zara."

"He is a popular man tonight," the guard who had his hand on Zara's knee replied, looking very annoyed.

"Has he received our travel papers yet? I mean, now that fighting has broken out in France, we really should be heading back to the US. My family will start to worry, you know?"

"We will send Herr Mauser to speak with you tomorrow," the other agent was trying to hurry Chuck out of the building.

"Okay. Okay," Chuck nodded. "He uhm... told me that I shouldn't really be out alone at night. Could you walk me back, Zara?"

Zara quickly looked at the two men with a disappointed frown.

"Of course, Chuck," she moved across the room. At the door, Zara turned to the two men. "Spate."

-oOo-

"Where is it?" Casey growled.

They had collected their pack and Chuck's boots before hiding in a small copse of trees.

"Still locked to a chain against the wall where I left it," Chuck shook his head. "There's no way we were going to take that thing with us. Unless you have a saw and you want to go cut through the chain."

"Did you at least write down the names?"

"I didn't exactly think to bring a notebook and pencil with me," Chuck shook his head. "And writing down hundreds of names would take all night. But I did read them."

"What?" both Zara and Casey gasped in disappointment.

"Chuck, how are you going to tell the authorities who the agents are?" Zara continued. "We need that book."

"No, we don't," Chuck gave a lopsided smile. "Why do you think they sent me on this mission? It's not because I'm a spy."

"Roger that," Casey sneered.

"So why did they send you, Chuck?" Zara asked.

"It's because I have a rather special memory."

"You have a what?" they both exclaimed.

"My memory," Chuck repeated. "I have this oddly retentive memory. I can look at things, lists, instructions, pictures, names... and I can remember them. Someone once compared it to a camera, a photographic memory. At college, I attended all the lessons and only made notes of the lecture while everyone else was busy trying to copy down the drawings from the blackboards. I would draw them out for Bryce, later. That's how he knew about me, why he recommended me."

"Are you telling me that all those secrets are now inside your head?" Casey blinked.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Chuck nodded. "I saw them so I know them."

"Well, Chuck me," Casey shook his head.

-oOo-


End file.
